


J is for Jeopardy

by whumpertrooper



Series: A to Z Charlie whump [9]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: A bit of suspense, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Charlie, Hurt/Comfort, I mean EVERYONE - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Whump, a to z charlie whump, even Danny, everyone gets into trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 87,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27310057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whumpertrooper/pseuds/whumpertrooper
Summary: All Lucien Blake wanted was a quiet family dinner. All Charlie Davis wanted was food. Neither of them got their desire. A story of past secrets, new understanding and a bit of jeopardy for everyone involved.
Relationships: Jean Beazley/Lucien Blake
Series: A to Z Charlie whump [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1307558
Comments: 89
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one was a long time coming. Another longer story for the A to Z Charlie whump challenge, though admittedly, this one is a bit different. I'll let you find out how :)
> 
> Warnings: Please, beware! While it is not the focus of the story, part of it is playing out in an abandoned mental hospital. There will be mentions of procedures and practices of the past. I tried to do a research as much as possible, but there is only so much I can grasp. The views and beliefs on mental illnesses portrayed in this story are purely those of the characters, at a certain period of time, not mine.
> 
> With that said, I hope you will enjoy the fic. As always, it is already finished and chapters will be posted daily. Big thanks to lawson_davis for creating two wonderful cover pics and to several other discord friends for supporting me along the way and kicking my butt into finishing this beast.

Blake always enjoyed large family dinners. Perhaps it was because in the past they never had any. Before his mother died there were party dinners of course, but that was different. Lucien was a young boy in the midst of adults who either talked about medicine, art or the latest gossip. The only joy _those_ dinners got him was to see his mother smile happily and perhaps a chance to grab some cake off the table without his father's notice.

After his mother died, Blake was shipped off to the boarding school. He scarcely saw his father, the only remaining family member, and dinners were usually a quiet affair. In China things were different, or well, they would have been. Blake knew that large family gatherings were common, even required. However, he was a foreigner marrying a Chinese girl. It wasn't the most usual of things, even at that time. Then the war headed its ugly head and everything turned upside down. Blake had lost what little comfort he had. 

He never thought he would gain it back, but here he was. Back home in Ballarat... having the job he enjoyed, freshly married to a woman he knew he didn't deserve.

"What are you smiling about?" a voice pulled him out of his musings. Blake looked up, trying to wipe the sappy look from his face.

"Ah, Danny. Nothing, just... lost in thoughts I suppose," he said. Danny Parks rolled his eyes and settled on the couch opposite Blake, a glass of cold beer in his hand. Blake raised an eyebrow.

"Jean let you have beer before dinner?" he asked with a smirk. Danny shrugged.

"It's my vacation. And she didn't really notice," he added with a grin. "Anyway, I need to stave off the hunger. Are you sure we need to wait for Lawson and Davis to arrive? I mean... we could leave them the salad..."

Blake chuckled, glancing towards the kitchen. He could smell the roast and the baked potatoes were almost done. Jean was humming and bustling around quite contentedly.

"They should be here shortly, don't worry. I have a feeling you wouldn't want to deal with a hungry Matthew on your day off."

Danny's eyes widened in mock horror.

"Sweet Lord, no. I'm happy Davis took up the slack. I'll tell you, the boss back in Melbourne is much more lenient," he said with a satisfied smile and took a sip of the beer.

Blake nodded.

"So Melbourne is treating you well? No regrets about leaving Ballarat?"

Danny's face turned a bit more serious.

"I'll always miss this place Doc, you know that. I miss my friends, I miss auntie Jean's cooking. What I don't miss is having to wonder when you'll get yourself killed or me in trouble for helping you," Danny added with a wink.

Blake snorted, making a hurt face.

"Daniel, you wound me. Did I ever get you in trouble?"

Danny opened his mouth, then clapped it shut, shaking his head. It was obvious he didn't even want to start recounting all the times. It fitted Blake just as well.

"Boys? Anyone going to help me set the table?" Jean called out from the kitchen. Danny shot an expectant look towards Blake. Just then there was a knock on the front door.

"Alright. I'll get the door, you go help Jean," Blake said and Danny put down his beer with a sigh.

"Expecting visitors?"

"Not that I know of. But perhaps Matthew and Charlie just forget their keys," Blake said, however unlikely that scenario was.

"I wish," Danny muttered and headed to the kitchen. Blake walked to the door and opened it, surprised to see their guest.

"Rose? Ah, what a nice surprise! I thought you wouldn't be back from Bendigo before tomorrow," he said with a smile and invited her inside.

"I managed to catch an earlier bus so I thought I'd stop by. Jean said Danny is here for a visit?"

"Indeed he is," Blake replied, trying to hide a grin. Ever since the wedding, he was aware of Rose and Danny hitting it off well. At first he was worried about Charlie's reaction, what with his history with Rose, but then Charlie and Danny also became pals and the three seemed to enjoy each other's company. It was true there was some chaffing in the beginning, but after one rather wild pub crawl Danny and Charlie seemed to clear the air. Of course Rose must've had a few words with them as well. Ever since, however, the atmosphere with these three together was one of relaxation. And bickering.

Rose headed to the kitchen and Blake had to smile when he heard Danny's surprised exclamation.

"Lucien? Dinner is ready," Jean called at him from the kitchen and Blake nodded, shooting a look outside towards the road. It was empty. He closed the door and followed Rose to the kitchen. Matthew and Charlie were running a bit late, but he was sure they would be home soon, so they could settle down and eat. As one big family.

* * *

Charlie's stomach grumbled so loud it could be heard even through the sound of the engine. Lawson snorted.

"Hungry?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Charlie grimaced.

"Starving. I missed lunch break. I hope they waited for us with dinner," he noted a bit wistfully. While he knew it was selfish to want the others go hungry until they arrived, Charlie was kind of looking forward to the dinner. He knew Jean was making his favourite roast and he caught mention of a dessert. Right now he would have eaten anything, but the idea of freshly baked potatoes made his mouth water.

Lawson was shooting him amused looks.

"Relax, _detective_ sergeant. The way you drive we will be there before Parks manages to finish the appetizer," Lawson noted and Charlie realized in his hunger he was pressing down on the gas more than usual. He eased up and let out a sigh.

Normally, he wouldn't be this antsy to get home, but the last few days were rather busy at the station. They had a case of extortion and Charlie, as the newly appointed detective sergeant, got the lead. Which was good, career wise, but hell on his nerves. Lawson was overseeing the case from far, only occasionally making a note when Charlie clearly indicated he would appreciate it. There were no dead bodies so Blake wasn't involved and it was the first time since Charlie's return from the bonehead that he could truly use his newly learned skills. Or well... first time that Blake nor Lawson were involved. Thus, it was with great joy that he managed to identify the culprit behind several cases of extortion, involving a shop being set on fire and racketeering.

Luck was also on his side and he apprehended the man without any violence. That was yesterday. This morning he found out the man in question was already wanted in two other states and supposedly belonged to a rather infamous crime family. He was one of the younger members, a cousin of a cousin who was sent out to the world trying to establish the family business in a new town. In other words, it was a great catch and Charlie was rightfully proud of his accomplishment.

That was also one of the reasons why he was looking forward to the dinner. He heard from Jean that Danny had arrived this morning for a prolonged weekend and thus the dinner. For Charlie it meant a new and willing listener to talk about the case and his proves. Not to mention, if Danny was spending the weekend, Charlie knew the two of them could go into town the next evening. After the stress of the last few days he was very much looking forward to a couple of beers, a table of pool and overall shooting the breeze.

Unfortunately, wrapping up the case also meant he had needed to finish a hell of a lot of paperwork before Eddie Corbyn, their suspect, could be properly processed and booked. Lawson was nice enough to wait up for him so that they could ride in one car. Otherwise, Charlie would've had to splurge for a cab or use the bus. Danny would have definitely stolen his dessert by then, even if just as payback for keeping them waiting.

It was fifteen minutes past six. That wasn't so bad after all.

Lawson rolled his eyes and was about to comment, when the radio crackled to life.

Both men startled, not expecting the sound.

" _Any unit clear for a code 9 and 19, Almond road 15. I repeat, any unit clear for code 9 and 19, Almond Rd. 15. Please respond. Over."_

Charlie and Lawson exchanged a look.

"That's member down or in trouble?"

"And assist police in trouble," Lawson finished grimly, already reaching for the radio.

"Lawson here. What are the details, constable? Over."

There was a short pause, then constable Thompson's voice resumed.

" _We had a call about trespassing and distress call. Unidentified boy around ten years, seen entering the old asylum at Almond Rd. The caller was supposedly the older brother. He said they entered the building and got separated when part of the building collapsed. Older brother ended the call before giving more details. Over."_

Charlie cringed. This might've been just a prank call but there was no way to say without checking. And he knew the asylum was too large for one person to do such kind of work. Not to mention, if it _wasn't_ a prank, every moment counted.

„Any other units available? Over."

„ _Unit 303 is out on a call. Over."_

This time when the radio crackled, they could hear Bill Hobart's voice, as grumpy as ever.

„ _I'm here_ ," Hobart announced, clearly not caring for any codes. _„The call was resolved. I'm heading over to the scene. Over,"_ he added as an afterthought.

Charlie and Lawson exchanged a look. With a sigh, Charlie nodded. Of course. There was no other choice.

"Unit 303, we will meet you at the location. Constable, have an ambulance ready to dispatch and stay on the radio. Over."

" _Understood, Chief Superintendent. Over."_

"Well, looks like dinner will have to wait after all," Lawson said even as Charlie had turned the car around.

"Yeah," he muttered. Somehow, the idea of food had lost its appeal anyway. If there was a kid in trouble, all else went out the window.

* * *

Hobart had arrived to the place before them. Charlie could see the lights of his car from the distance, soon joined by the light of a torch slowly walking the perimeter. Charlie pulled up next to Bill's car. For a moment he just looked outside the window at the imposing building. They were at the tail end of the winter season but it was still turning dark quite early on. It didn't help that the asylum was located in the middle of the Creswick regional park. Probably the only place around with a rather dense cover of trees.

Charlie loved trees and during daylight he would be the first one to enjoy a nice run around one of the trails. But at night the place looked just a bit... threatening.

"Hope you aren't scared of abandoned places," Lawson commented as he was ruffling through the compartment for a torch.

Charlie shook his head.

"This place looks... abysmal," Charlie said, a shiver running down his spine.

"Yeah well, that happens when a place is left to rot for over two decades," Lawson said offhandedly, grabbing the torch and getting out of the car. Charlie quickly followed, turning on his own light. They could see Hobart's torch stopping a bit to the side of the building.

"Found anything, sergeant?" Lawson called out in greeting.

Hobart turned and gave them both a nod before he grimly turned back towards his find. The torch had shown a bike lying on the dirt, abandoned. It was clear it belonged to a kid from the smaller size. It was also clear that the bike haven't been there all that long. They could actually see the tire tracks leading from the road. The fact there was no other set of tracks leading away though was a bit puzzling, if the call was to be believed.

"No sign of the brother?"

Bill shook his head.

"I reckon we will have to go inside and take a look for ourselves," Bill muttered and Charlie could see he wasn't hyped about the idea either. Three torches swept the grounds around then shone at the building in front of them.

It was a huge, three story building with two side wings and a small clock tower above the main entrance. Some windows still had glass in them, but most were broken. The roof was holding by some miracle, at least the parts Charlie could see from where he stood. The building was built in an old Victorian style. He was sure at the time of its build it was a beautiful place, at least from the outside. Now however, it loomed over them, casting an oppressive shadow at everything. The moonlight peeking from behind the right wing did nothing to ease the mood.

"It's awful big," Charlie muttered.

"Not as big as the Lake mental hospital, but... large enough for the three of us to go looking for a child," Lawson noted glumly.

"If there is any kid. Might be just a prank," Bill said.

Charlie shone the light back at the bike.

"Do you think a kid would leave his bike here just so he can prank us?" he asked dubiously.

Bill grimaced but didn't comment. They all looked back at the building.

"Alright. Let's find the boy and get the hell out of here. This place is giving me the creeps," Lawson said and without waiting for a reply headed towards the front door. Charlie and Bill reluctantly followed.

Charlie somehow hoped they would find the front door locked and intact, a sign that no one could have entered. A quick sweep of the torch had shown that the windows at the bottom floor were all boarded up or had bars in them. If there was no way in then perhaps they wouldn't have to enter. Charlie wasn't sure why, but he really didn't want to go inside.

He wasn't one to believe ghost stories but the atmosphere was unusually thick. The silence around was also making him nervous. Even the usual hum of frogs and crickets sounded somehow out of tune. But that was most likely just Charlie's imagination.

They approached the door and Charlie was dismayed to see it was open. Well, broken down would be a better description. The door was hanging on one hinge, the wood cracked and the lock clearly gone for more than a few years.

"Why was this building abandoned?" he wondered. Despite the darkness, he was sure the architecture was stunning and someone had paid great mind to building this place. It must've cost a lot too.

"This was originally a mansion belonging to the old Sturgis family. After the last remaining member of the family had died without a heir, the building was turned into a sanatorium of sorts but that didn't last. When the Lake Asylum had suffered that huge fire, most of the patients were moved over here until it was repaired," Lawson spoke even as he pushed at the remnants of the door with his cane so they could pass inside. The entrance hall had parquets that creaked and Charlie felt the dust whirling in the air with every movement he made. It didn't take long for him to sneeze.

"Allergies, detective?" Hobart said with a smirk. Charlie ignored the glib. Ever since he returned from bonehead, Bill seemed to have a hard time accepting his 'promotion'. He took every chance to comment on it.

"What happened after the Lake Asylum was repaired?" Charlie asked instead, wanting to know why such a building would be left in this state.

"The patients moved back. Of course, there were several missing and others were in too bad a condition to survive the transport. An investigation was launched and because no investor wanted anything to do with this place, the town boarded it up and let it rot."

Charlie blinked. Was Lawson serious?

"Missing people?"

Lawson shrugged.

"I'm sure Blake would be happy to give you a full history of this place, but I'd rather focus on finding the kid," Hobart jumped in, grumpier than usual. Charlie wanted to retort something, but the man was right. They were here for a reason and Blake would definitely have more to say on the subject.

"Ballarat police! Anyone here?" Lawson bellowed. His voice was oddly echoing through the walls and Charlie barely suppressed a shudder. It was eerie. They waited in silence for almost a minute, listening.

"Hello? Anyone? Call out if you need assistance!"

Silence.

Charlie wished they could just turn around and leave but that obviously wasn't in the cards.

"What now?" he asked and made a sweep with his torch. They stood in a huge hall. There was a reception desk in front of them. Charlie couldn't see a staircase, which most likely meant the way up was through one of the wings. There was a pair of high glass doors to each side of the hall and two normal doors behind the reception desk which was positioned in the middle of the hall. In the far left corner there was a barred elevator door. Charlie walked up to it and shone the light through the bars. He couldn't see the elevator cabin from that angle and there was only darkness wherever he aimed the light. He swallowed, feeling his stomach turn at the dank smell that hit his nose as he leaned against the bars. Charlie pulled his face away quickly, an absurd feeling that something might just reach out at any second and grab at him causing a chill run down his spine.

"Anything interesting there Davis?" Hobart called out.

Charlie shook off the strange fear and reached for the doors. He knew the elevator wouldn't be working without electricity, but he wanted to make sure a curious kid couldn't have just opened it and fallen in.

His hands tugged at the barred door. It gave a creak and he felt it move for maybe a centimetre, but then there was resistance. Charlie thought that perhaps he might be able to pull it open, but that would require excessive force. Not something a supposedly ten year old might do. The door clearly hadn't been used for ages.

"Nothing," Charlie said, loud enough to be heard by the others.

He turned to inspect the hall a bit more. Besides the elevator there were only two small tables and a few chairs at the side, looking like a waiting area for visitors. Charlie spotted a potted plant, or rather a pot that hosted the corpse of what looked like a dried up palm tree. It was now surrounded by spider webs. Charlie could swear he saw movement in the light of the torch as something crawled away. He shuddered and turned away. He hated spiders or other crawling creatures. Especially as some of the local ones had quite strong venoms.

"Do we split up?" Hobart asked and his tone sounded oddly scratchy. Charlie was surprised to note that the man looked physically uncomfortable with being here.

Lawson grimaced at the question, his eyes roaming the space.

"I don't like it, but we need to cover ground."

Charlie hated that idea.

"Boss, maybe it would be better to stay together," he said and raised his hand to stop any scathing comment from Bill. "I mean... if one of us finds the boy, how are we going to call for help?"

"What do you propose then Davis?"

"Let's start with one wing? We can each pick a floor, but we should stay close enough to be able to call for help if needed."

It was odd, but Hobart didn't protest. He actually seemed a bit relieved.

Lawson gave it only a moment of thought then nodded.

"Alright. Let's first check out those two rooms then we can start with the left wing."

It turned out that both doors led to one large room. What was its original purpose Charlie had no idea. Maybe a ball room for large parties? Now... or rather during the times of the asylum, it must've been a room serving for visitations or larger assemblies. There were tables, chairs and benches, strewn all around. Caked in dust, most of them broken to pieces. There were empty alcohol bottles littering the floor along with an assortment of waste. It was clear at some point in time a bunch of teens found their way in and had thrown an impromptu party or two. Charlie was just surprised to see that the waste and bottles weren't littering the entry hall as well.

"Anyone here?" Hobart called out and they swept the room with the torches. No movement, no sound except for the wind whistling through a half broken window at the back of the room, showing only darkness.

"Seems empty, Boss," Charlie said rather unnecessarily. Lawson took in the place and nodded.

"Let's go then."

The glass door to the left wing was surprisingly untouched. Except for the dirt and dust, the glass wasn't cracked. There also didn't seem to be any lock, which Charlie found a bit strange in such an establishment. However, once they passed through the door it was clear the fancy door was just a facade. Their torches didn't reach all the way to the end of the hallway, but all along the corridor there were full doors, most of them with padlocks and a small opening to peer inside. The walls of the corridor were dark grey, the paint peeling off in places, mould taking over others.

"This place is giving me the creeps," Charlie commented under his breath. He was surprised when Hobart made an agreeable grunt. Lawson was eerily silent, his face pulled into a frown. Charlie called out this time, cringing at hearing his own voice echo only to be cut off suddenly. He really hated it here.

"Let's move this along," Lawson growled and one by one, they started checking the rooms. There had to be at least six on both sides of the corridor. The building seemed larger from the inside than the short look outside suggested .

"Looks like patient bedrooms?" Charlie said a bit hesitantly. There shouldn't have been any hesitation, the bare cots, two of them in each room, should have been a dead giveaway. It wasn't as much that he doubted patients slept there, as the disbelief that someone could have slept there. The rooms... they were bare. Each had a small window set up high with crudely installed bars, some were boarded. There were scratches and childish drawings with what seemed to be crayons in one room, while the other was decorated with crude curses in dark pen drawn over one of the walls. Some cots were nailed down to the floor. Others... others had leather straps hanging from the sides.

Charlie swallowed down the feeling of nausea. He didn't even want to imagine what was going on here. And the smell... the smell was horrible.

Hobart had opened one door only to curse and quickly backpedal, almost crashing into Lawson. He slammed the door closed fast but Charlie still caught the sight of a floor and walls covered in what must've been human waste.

The hunger he had felt previously was all but gone. All he craved now was a long, scalding hot shower. Despite just passing by the room, the smell lingered.

"Maybe this is really just a prank call," Charlie commented with a face screwed up in disgust. "What kid would be running around this place?"

Indeed, what child? When three adult men felt the need to keep close, goose bumps adorning their arms.

"A crazy one," Hobart said, anger clear in his tone.

"He might've done it on a dare," Lawson spoke up, gaining both of their attention. Lawson noticed and gave a shrug. "I remember one summer when someone dared me to sleep over at the cemetery. I was ten. Of course Blake found it exciting and tagged along."

Charlie snorted. Of course. Blake would be the one to find such experience interesting. Or maybe he just wanted to help a friend save face. Charlie's amusement slipped away as he wondered if the kid daring Lawson wasn't the same one that bullied him in school. He didn't ask though.

"Still... how far would you have gone?"

Lawson shrugged.

"We need to search the premises so we can be totally sure there is no one here."

With that said, they continued checking out the rooms, occasionally calling out then listening for any response. Fortunately, the rest of the rooms seemed to be in a slightly better condition, or at least they didn't hold any undue surprises. All of them were empty however and they had reached the end of the corridor.

There was only one door left straight in front of them and they all shared a confused look. It wasn't making any sense not to put a staircase at the end of the wing. Did the original builders really plan on people having to walk through the whole building to be able to go upstairs? Or were parts of the building rebuilt when it became an asylum? Charlie didn't think one elevator would be it for the whole building.

"Open that and we will see," Lawson grunted, reading their minds.

It was Hobart who opened the door then let out a disgruntled sound.

"Perfect," he said as he waved his torch up and down then stepped forward. Charlie peeked in, then froze.

Under his feet was metal. Rusted, old metal. As Hobart took a step deeper inside to make space, the construction gave a warning creak and both men froze momentarily.

"What's it?" Lawson asked from the door.

"We found the staircase," Charlie commented with a grimace as he used his torch to look around properly. It wasn't a wide staircase by any means. There were no windows, just grey walls and red metal. The stairs led up and he could see the railing was missing in places. He hoped the stairs were in better shape.

"You gotta be kidding," Hobart uttered and Charlie followed the light of his torch downward.

"Damn. Looks like there's another floor beneath us," he said, turning to Lawson. The man grimaced.

"Alright. New plan. Each of us takes one floor. I'll go down, you two up. If the layout is the same, we should meet at the staircase in the right wing where we can check the ground floor on our way to the hallway. If one of us doesn't get there, the other two backtrack the floor. Understood?"

Both Hobart and Charlie nodded, although it was clear neither of them really wanted to go.

"Move," Lawson barked, just as his torch blinked and turned dark. "Bloody hell!"

"Boss?" They haven't moved yet.

Lawson grunted, smashing the torch a few times until it blinked back to life.

"It's fine. You better check-"

Someone cried out.

All three men froze.

"What's that?" Charlie asked after a second, sure that it must've been the wind in the pipes or the building settling so to speak. The sound repeated. A low wail... a cry for help. A child's cry for help.

"It's coming from upstairs," Bill said and without thinking, he was already rushing up the stairs, Charlie close behind.

It was Lawson, still partially standing in the doorway who heard the warning creak and the snap of metal.

"Stop!" he cried out but it was too late.

Charlie heard the warning at the same moment he felt the vibration under his feet. He was mid motion, Hobart only a few feet ahead of him. They were in the middle of the first staircase... too far to get back to the door in time. Not far enough to reach the second clearing.

"Bill!" Charlie managed to shout although he knew it was useless. There was nowhere to go... only down. Years of rust and abandon made the metal construction fragile. Too fragile to hold the weight of two grown men, especially when they were running up.

There was a sound of nails tearing from the wall, another loud crack and then only a scream.

Charlie didn't know who screamed... if it was him, Bill or Lawson. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was that the floor vanished from under his feet. He rolled and tripped and he could feel himself falling. The torch fell from his hands and tumbled down alongside him, offering a momentary sight of metal and limbs, dust and dirt glinting in the light.

Charlie felt something crash into him... or maybe he crashed into something.

Then the light vanished alongside Charlie's breath and consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

For several seconds, Lawson could only stare wide eyed into the darkness in front of him. He had somehow managed to step back into the hall as the staircase started to fall. He tried to reach out and grab at least one of his officers and pull them inside, but something smacked him on the hand and he stumbled backwards, falling down. Now he was sitting on the dirty floor, trying to blink away all the dust and rust swirling in the air, a cough ripping through his chest.

'Bloody hell, what was that?' he thought then scrambled back up to his feet, trying to ignore the twinge in his bum leg. He stepped to the edge of the doorway, shining his torch down.

He couldn't see a thing.

There was so much dust in the air it looked almost like smoke from fire. He coughed then cleared his throat.

"Charlie! Bill!" he bellowed to the pit that was below. He could see parts of the clearing protruding from the rubble and the dust, the rest of the staircase hanging from the wall, creaking and looking for all like it could crumble any second.

There was no sound from his officers. No answer.

Lawson felt his heart skip a beat.

'Dear lord, don't let them be dead,' he prayed, shining his torch all around the space, trying to see through the dirt, trying to spot a body.

Nothing. All he could see was rusty metal, rebar, pieces of the wall. He heard more creaking and quickly shone the light up to see if there was something else falling. The second story of the staircase seemed to be holding in place by some miracle. Lawson hoped it would last, at least until Charlie and Bill get out. He didn't want to imagine how much damage it would cause if it fell on top of them right now.

If they were even alive.

Lawson's stomach was a twisted knot and burning bile.

"Charlie!"

Nothing.

"Bill!"

"Damn it, make a sound!" he shouted angrily then listened. The only thing he could hear was the settling of the rubble, the occasional creaking of staircase that kept holding on. And the sound... the one that made Charlie and Bill rush upwards.

The wailing of a child, calling for help.

Lawson wanted to scream.

He couldn't go up... he couldn't go down. And there was no way he could help either of them alone.

He tried calling out one more time, waited several seconds. He thought there might've been a groan but when it wasn't followed up with anything, Lawson let out a curse and smacked the wall angrily.

"I'm going to call for help! Hang on!" he called and then, feeling as if he was leaving someone in a burning building, he turned his back and started running back the way they had come from.

Well, maybe running was a bit strong of a word. Lawson's cane was clapping against the floor loudly. The echo of the claps and the sound of his breathing made his skin crawl. Walking down the long, dark hallway alone, only in the company of his occasionally blinking torch, was much more daunting than he would've thought. Despite knowing what was - or rather wasn't in the rooms he was passing, he felt as if he was being followed by unseen eyes.

'Get your shit together,' Lawson thought and pushed on. His leg gave a protest as he was trying to take off in a jog. The corridor was so much longer than he remembered.

He finally made it back to the main entrance hall. He gave it a quick sweep with the torch, just to make sure there was no one around. The light was casting strange shadows, the spider webs and the occasional nature wowing its way through the building just adding to its terrifying atmosphere.

None of that mattered though. He had to call help, had to get back to his people and make sure they were alive. He had to wake up from this nightmare.

The fresh air was like a slap on his face. Lawson didn't even realize how fast he passed through the entrance, practically falling through the front door into the night.

Seeing the sky, however dark it was, made everything seem more real. The cars. He had to get to the radio. Lawson looked around, for a second hoping to see another car pulling up. Shouldn't there be someone else coming? Didn't Thompson send out an ambulance?

No, Lawson shook his head. Of course not. He told him to wait for a call with that.

Lawson cursed and now heavily limping made his way to his car. He opened the door, practically falling down on the seat even as he was grabbing for the radio transmitter.

He froze.

The radio was broken.

Not just... not working. No... the whole thing was smashed to pieces.

Lawson felt a chill run down his spine as a terrible thought entered his mind.

He looked around, but he couldn't see anyone else. No movement. No sign that there was anyone else.

But there must've been.

Backing out of the car, Lawson stood leaning against the door. With a sick feeling of intuition, he shone his torch at the tires.

Slashed.

All four of them... slashed with a knife.

Gritting his teeth, one hand clutching hard at the cane, the other treaming the torch as if it was a baton, Lawson turned towards Bill's car. He could see even from the distance that the tires were also slashed.

Still... he made his way towards it and leaned over.

The radio was busted as well. Cables ripped out, pieces of it lying on the floor of the car.

Someone didn't want them to leave or call for help.

Lawson felt his legs turn into jelly... he had to lean against the car not to sink down to the ground.

He took several deep breaths, trying to get a handle on his emotions. Push back the fear. Not for himself but for the two men still in the building, possibly hurt if not...

No.

Lawson shook his head.

They weren't dead. Couldn't be.

He had to go back and help them. He shouldn't have left in the first place, leaving them vulnerable. Someone was there with them and there was no telling what that person wanted. Lawson wasn't sure if they'd orchestrated the collapse of the stairs, but busting the radios in this situation was equal to a murder attempt.

He had to return to his people...

But first, he wanted to look inside the cars. He wasn't sure how he would make his way down, but he would take whatever there was. A rope or a first aid kit. Anything to help.

He cursed the fact he didn't have a gun, but he could hardly expect there might be a need for it on the way home.

Opening the trunk of the car he did indeed find a rope. If it was long enough or even possible to use would remain to be seen. Unless he knew what was the situation with Charlie and Bill he didn't know what else to bring. He grabbed a few bandages from the first aid kit just to be on the safe side and dug through the compartment until he found a pack of batteries for the torch. Last thing he wanted was to stay in the dark if he ran out.

Lawson took the rolled up rope and threw it over his shoulder, then with an angry look firm in place headed back inside the asylum.

The walk back towards the staircase lasted even longer. Heaved down with the rope and his leg already tired from the whole day, Lawson had to lean on his cane more than he liked. The only company was the sound of his steps and breathing. He didn't know a place could be so daunting but it was. He pressed on however, well aware that his people... his _friends_ were in need of help. Fear, however irrational, had to be pushed to the background.

He was finally back to the end of the corridor. A pang of disappointment hit him when he didn't see anyone there. Somehow, he had a hope that at least one of the men managed to get back up and would be waiting.

Of course that was a rather ridiculous assumption.

He stopped at the end of the corridor, where the metal landing had vanished below. With a lump in his throat he looked down.

The dust had somehow settled but he couldn't see much more than metal and rubble.

"Charlie? Bill?" he called out once again, praying that there would be an answer.

For the longest minute of his life, there was only silence accompanied by sounds of creaking, pebbles rolling and a distant sound of a child calling for help.

Then he heard it.

A cough.

His heart leapt in his chest.

The sound was coming from down below.

"Charlie? Bill! Answer me, damn it!" he shouted, panic working into his voice.

"B-boss?"

Lawson let out a shaky breath and felt his legs tremble. He grasped at the door frame and closed his eyes for a mere second.

"Charlie," he breathed out. He was alive.

"Bill?" he called out then, praying.

There was a groan and another cough then a grumbled "Here," was his answer.

They were both alive.

* * *

The dinner was a strange affair. After thirty minutes passed without Lawson and Charlie arriving, it was decided that they would proceed with the dinner. After all, it made little sense to let everything else get cold. Jean was a bit annoyed by the fact the men didn't even call to let them know not to wait up, but it was only a minor inconvenience, one that she was getting used to.

Danny and Rose more than made up for entertainment and for a while everyone kind of forgot that they were missing two people. Of course that didn't last long. Once they finished the main course and were starting on desserts, Rose shot a wistful look towards Charlie's usual place.

"Why didn't they call?" she spoke and it was as if she broke the pretence.

"There might've been an emergency and they simply have no time," Blake offered.

"Yeah. It's crazy how often something happens like five minutes before shift ends," Danny added knowingly.

For a little while that explanation seemed to be enough. After dessert they helped Jean clear up and moved to the living room for some drinks. But when the clock announced another hour had passed, Blake had started to feel a bit of concern. He could understand emergencies, but this dinner had been planned for some time. One phone call wouldn't have hurt.

Blake put down his now empty glass and straightened his shirt, shooting a smile at Jean when she raised an eyebrow.

"Going somewhere?" Danny asked curiously.

"I'll call the station. Perhaps Matthew left a message and the officer there just forgot to pass it on."

Danny and Rose exchanged a glance. If Blake was getting worried, perhaps they should be doing the same. Blake saw that and waved his hand.

"I'm sure they are fine, but I'd rather check."

"None of us are protesting," Danny pointed out and Blake's lips quirked. He made it over to the phone in the hall and noticed that Rose had stood as well to follow him, leaning against the wall.

Blake dialled the familiar number.

It took a bit longer than he would've expected for someone to pick up. Even then, he heard a somehow croaky " _Ballarat police station. How can I help you_?"

Blake frowned, trying to figure out who he was speaking with.

"This is Dr. Blake. I wanted to ask if Superintendent Lawson is still at the station."

A moment of silence and Blake could swear he heard a harsh intake of breath, then a clearing of throat.

"Uh, sorry Doctor Blake. Superintendent Lawson was called away for an emergency. He will be available tomorrow for any inquiries."

Blake froze. Something wasn't right. _Everyone_ at the station knew Matthew lived at Blake's house. Why would he have to wait for the next day?

"Can I help you with anything else, Dr. Blake?"

Finally, Blake had recognized the officer as constable Thompson. He knew what was strange... the man's voice was usually jovial and lower in tone. Right now it sounded a bit... high pitched. Croaky. And Thompson definitely knew Lawson was supposed to be home right now.

"Ah, I suppose nothing else, constable Thompson. Say... how is your lovely wife Elisa doing? Still suffering from those dreadful migraines?"

Thompson didn't lose a moment. He gave a nervous chuckle.

"Ah no, the migraines are all gone. The medicine you prescribed few weeks ago worked like a charm."

"Glad to hear. Alright, I'll leave you to work, constable. In case you get to speak to the superintendent, tell him to give me a call, yes?"

"Of course. Have a good night, Dr. Blake," Thompson said and without waiting for a reply ended the call.

Blake stood there for a moment, slowly returning the phone to its cradle.

"What's wrong?" Rose asked, a frown marring her face. Danny appeared next to her.

Blake grimaced, then nodded at them to return to the living room. Once they were back there, Blake walked up to the couch and leaned against the armrest, but didn't sit down.

"Doc? What's wrong?"

Blake recounted the call and they exchanged a confused look.

"Is it possible the constable just... forgot about uncle Matthew living here?"

Blake shook his head, but it was Danny whose frown was the deepest.

"That's not even it, Rose," he said, grimacing.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Constable Thompson doesn't have a wife."

"And I most definitely didn't prescribe this nonexistent wife any migraine medication," Blake added.

"Then what-" Rose paused, her face turning pale.

"I think constable Thompson wasn't alone. And I think Matthew and Charlie might be in trouble."

* * *

Constable Peter Thompson put the phone back into its cradle, trying unsuccessfully to hide how shaky his hand was. The masked man behind him didn't care. Peter felt the nuzzle of the gun nudge the back of his skull, ruffling his hair.

"I hope for your sake that wasn't an attempt to warn someone," the man growled and Peter gave a slight shake of head, his breath catching in his throat. He felt something wet run down from his forehead to his cheek and idly wondered whether it was blood or sweat. He didn't dare to reach up and check though.

He knew from experience now that any unannounced move would bring pain.

Not that he could move all that much.

He was sitting on a chair, a thick rope tied around his chest and ankles, making him one with the chair. His hands were handcuffed in front of him, but only so he could work the phone if needed. The chair he was sat on was pushed flush against the desk, leaving him with barely enough space to breathe, his hands put on top of the desk, on display at all times.

"What... what do you want?" he asked once again but the only answer he got was a slap on the back of his head.

"Shut up!" the man uttered. Without a warning, he pulled some nasty rag out of his pocket and did a quick job with tying it around Peter's mouth. Peter wanted to protest but the gun was threateningly close to his face. He might not have a wife waiting on him at home, but he was barely thirty. He didn't want to die.

He just hoped that Blake was indeed as smart as he liked to pretend to be. Peter was still feeling guilty about sending his superior officers on a wild goose chase. God, he hoped the bogus call was just a distraction and not a trap. He couldn't forgive himself if the men got hurt or worse killed because he was too afraid to warn them.

Even though he hardly had a choice in the matter. And to think the night had started out on such a good note. Peter had been looking forward to the night shift for several days now. It was always calmer during night. He had time to scribble into his notebook, try to finish one of his short stories. He was working up the courage to send some of them into the Courier, see if they could perhaps be published. And if the writing would get boring, Johnny was at guard duty. Whenever they got a night shift together, they found a time for a few games of card. Seeing that this time Hobart was the night shift lead, Peter was looking forward to a bit of gambling as well.

It all went to hell before he could even settle down for his shift though. Lawson and Davis had just left and Peter locked up the door behind them. Ever since the incident with Ned the rules at the station changed. There were to be two people working nights... three if they had someone in the cells.

And the door was to be locked.

Lot of good that did though. Peter had made himself coffee and settled behind the desk to try and get rid of the paperwork Lawson assigned him so he would have the rest of the night free. Hobart had left a few minutes earlier on a call of disorderly conduct in the local pub. Peter assumed the man would take his sweat time coming back.

He was a bit surprised then when he heard knocking on the front door.

"Anyone here? Please, there has been an accident. We need help!" a male voice called, sounding quite panicked.

Peter didn't think about it. He unlocked the door, ready to offer assistance.

Next thing he knew he was lying on the floor, blinking away the darkness. His head hurt and it was with a belated reaction that he noticed the gun now pointed at his chest. He noticed a splotch of red on the nuzzle, wondering whether it was his own blood or just a weird spot in his suddenly blurry vision.

"What-" he uttered before a boot stepped on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Peter stayed unmoving. Still confused, he followed the boot up to its owner, only to be met with a black ski mask. Only thing he saw about his attacker were the dark eyes, glaring at him.

He heard the lock turning and two more men walked by. One of them paused and squatted down next to Peter. His face was also hidden underneath a mask.

"Where are the cells?" he asked gruffly.

Peter's eyes widened.

The boot pressed down harder and Peter gasped for breath, squirming, trying to free himself. All he got for his effort was a quick slap on the face.

"Cells!" the man repeated and a gun was pushed under his chin.

Peter tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He let out a sound he wasn't proud of and in an attempt to survive few minutes longer, he pointed towards the corridor that led to the cells. The squatting man got up and without a word left, the other one following him. The third one, with his boot still on Peter's chest, leaned down.

"Here's the deal, copper. You do as I say... you might see tomorrow. If not... there's a bullet with your name on it. Understood?"

Peter gulped, then gave a small nod. He couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. And he didn't.

The nod seemed to be answer enough. The man nodded and let up the pressure.

"I want you to get up, slowly. Then settle down behind your desk. Any quick moves and you get a bullet."

Peter did as he was told. He wasn't proud about it, but he didn't fight back, didn't even make a sound.

He was just sitting down behind his desk when he heard a sound of struggle from somewhere in the depth of the building and realized that must've been Johnny.

He turned, wide eyed towards the door to the corridor, but the man nudged him with the gun.

"Don't even think about it," he grunted. Then he requested Peter's own damn handcuffs and made sure they clicked tight around his wrists. Before Peter knew it, there was a rope being tied around his chest, then legs. Where the hell did it come from? He didn't notice it before, but perhaps one of the other attackers brought it in while he was lying on the floor, dazed from the head blow.

He wondered what this was all about. Was this a robbery? Were they trying to make a statement by taking the police station hostage? What was the damn endgame?

The man's request that followed made even less sense to Peter.

"How many units are active right now?" he asked first. Peter blinked. Should he lie or tell the truth? He started shaking his head, but the man's eyes narrowed and his teeth bared.

"Don't lie to me. I know there must be someone else there."

"O-one," Peter finally admitted.

The man didn't seem to believe him.

"Put out a call. To ALL units," he emphasized with the jab of his gun, then told Peter exactly what to say.

Reluctantly, Peter made the call. And cringed when he heard the superintendent respond. He forgot the man took one of the cars with the radio. With twisted stomach, he lied through his teeth as both Lawson and Hobart headed out to the address and wondered what did he send them into.

Almost an hour passed before the phone rang. Peter was trying very hard to control his emotions by then. He didn't know what was going on. He heard sounds of scuffle from time to time. He heard furniture being tossed, doors slammed. The men were obviously searching for things. The one that stayed with him in the main office started going through the cabinets, grabbing several files, tossing the rest all over the floor. Peter didn't have a clue which files he took and that was most likely the whole purpose.

He wondered if Johnny was alright. He wondered about the three men that were held in the cells. Two of them were local troublemakers locked up to cool down or awaiting a court date. The third one... all Peter knew was that the man was someone new in town, involved in racketeering. Someone detective Davis worked hard to catch. Peter hoped the men who forced themselves inside the station would leave the prisoners alone. That they would take whatever they came for and just leave.

When Blake called... Peter had been tied up for over an hour. His hope that this will get resolved without bloodshed was gone.

Lawson or Hobart hadn't called back and that meant that they most likely ran into trouble. Somewhere deep inside, Peter started to realize that this might not end well for either of them. He had to do something. Had to at least try.

Whether it was the right choice to involve Blake in the matter was left to be seen. As Peter fibbed his way through the call, he fervently hoped it wasn't the biggest mistake of his life.


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness and dust.

That was the first thing Charlie sensed when he tried to open his eyes. He was lying on his left side at an awkward position. Something was digging painfully into his side. The feeling was so uncomfortable that he had rolled onto his back without a thought.

Almost instantly he was assaulted by a coat of dust and debris settling on his face. It filled his nostrils, made his eyes tear up even before he could open them fully. He raised his hand to try and wipe it off but that made the weight distribution change. Something under him creaked threateningly, something sharp cutting through his blazer, scraping skin. Charlie hissed out a breath, almost choking on whatever was filling the air. He moved back to his side, preferring the dull pressure on his side to the cutting edge.

Where was he and what the hell happened?

He felt like waking up from a nightmare only to realize it was reality. There was the memory of dread and pain but it was drowned out by confusion.

Wasn't there a place he was supposed to be?

Somewhere warm and comfortable, somewhere safe.

His eyes opened, tears running down his cheeks. Charlie risked moving again, reaching up and rubbing at his eyes. His face felt grimy as he tried to clear his eyes. He could feel a cut on his eyebrow bleeding sluggishly, which hardly helped the matter but perhaps it explained his current confusion.

Charlie cleared his throat and blinked.

At first he couldn't see a thing.

Fear gripped him tighter.

Did he lose his sight? Or was he trapped in some windowless room?

He was trying to come up with a memory of what he was doing last, while also figuring out his current state. He let his eyes slip closed because the dust was irritating them something awful. Dust. Why was there so much dust? And what was that dank smell?

He felt wet, mouldy bricks and concrete. He could almost taste rust on his tongue and he could swear there was sand or old paint cracking under his teeth as he clenched them.

His fingers splayed wide, slowly and carefully feeling around himself.

Metal and rocks. Sharp edges and hard surface. His fingers paused at what felt eerily familiar. An edge of a metal stair.

The memories slammed into him faster than the floor did. The call, the bike. The bloody asylum and the bloody stairs!

It was only now that Charlie started paying attention to the sounds.

The occasional clink of something small falling, rolling down like a pebble from a rocky hill. A creak of metal high above. The barely perceptible voice of a child wailing in the distance. He should have heard that right away, but it was too far away and reminded him too much of the wailing wind trapped in a chimney. There was something strange about it. Repetitive.

Charlie felt a pang of worry and guilt. He should be up there, trying to find the boy. Instead of lying there in a heap, wondering...

Charlie's breath hitched. How could he have forgotten?

He wasn't alone.

He wasn't alone in the building and he wasn't alone when the staircase fell.

A sound not unlike the wail of that child escaped his throat as he attempted to sit up.

It was a mistake.

He realized that only when he heard a voice.

Someone was calling his name.

He was lying on the ground and what used to be the staircase landing. He knew he tried to get up at some point, but everything had vanished for a moment. Or an eternity. It was impossible to tell time when one was in darkness, traipsing on the edge of consciousness.

"Charlie? Bill! Answer me, damn it!"

It was almost a reflex.

"B-boss?" Charlie called out, turning his head upwards. Was it his imagination? Or did he really see some light breaking through the settling dust?

"Charlie!"

Lawson must've heard him, because the relief in his voice was unmistakable. Charlie felt touched, the emotion almost chocking him up. Or perhaps it was the dirt.

"Bill?" Lawson called out again and Charlie startled when for the first time since the fall he heard movement nearby. There was a pained groan, then a familiar and gruff "Here!"

Charlie could hear Lawson's responding chuckle. The outlet of relief upon both of them being alive.

"Bill," Charlie said, his own voice hoarse. "Bloody hell," he let out.

"Any of you hurt?" Lawson asked and Charlie grimaced. It would have been a miracle if they weren't hurt really, but he knew the question was really different. Were they hurt badly enough to need help getting out?

Charlie wasn't sure.

He was just getting some semblance of his own body. Everything hurt, but after a fall like that, he could say the pain was hardly severe. As far as he knew, none of his limbs were broken.

Slowly and carefully, suddenly aware of the debris lying all around, Charlie forced himself into sitting position. He grimaced as his side gave a protest and he felt a familiar twitch in his ribs. Of course. Why wouldn't he bruise a few of them. Though he guessed that perhaps this time they weren't broken. His head was a bit fuzzy, and his right wrist tender, but overall... he felt surprisingly hale.

"Just bruised," Charlie called out after a moment, happy for once not to be in need of immediate medical care.

"Bill? You okay?" he asked when he realized the man hadn't spoken. Though he could hear grunts and movement, followed by a pained hiss.

Charlie felt his gut clench.

"Bill!" he struggled up to his feet, sneezing and coughing as his movement raised a cloud of dust.

Bill cursed but Charlie at least knew where to look for him. It was still dark and even though Lawson kept shining the torch downwards, most of the light was still blocked by the dust and some debris. A dark shadow looming threateningly above their heads.

Charlie didn't really want to look upwards. So he followed the sounds Bill was making.

"Hobart! Report!" Lawson barked, then cursed. Charlie startled as he heard something fall mere inches from him. Even though it was most likely just a loose piece of mortar, he didn't want to be pelted by more debris. He could already feel his hair was matted with it all.

"Boss!"

"You alright there?"

"Yeah. Just... be careful," he called back, then turned towards his original quest. "Bill? What's wrong?"

Bill gave another curse and it was clear he was trying to move around but something was causing him pain.

"My leg. I think it's broken," he finally uttered through gritted teeth.

Charlie grimaced. While a broken leg was still better than a broken back or a spurting artery, he was just reminded too closely of the accident with Lawson and the car. The throbbing in his side wasn't helping to push back the memories either.

"Let me see," he muttered, ignoring Bill's responding snort.

"Sure. You have night vision?"

Charlie didn't respond. He knelt down next to what he was pretty sure was Bill. A hand grasping at his wrist as soon as he touched flesh was evidence enough.

"Bloody hell Davis!" Bill let out, obviously startled.

"Sorry. Uh... what... which leg?" he asked, trying not to cringe at Bill's bruising grip. At least he didn't grasp his right hand. That would've been worse.

Bill seemed to hesitate only for a moment. Above them, the light from Lawson's torch danced over the debris, breaking through the once again settling cover of dust. Charlie was now able to see Bill's figure at least.

"Charlie? What's going on down there?" Lawson called out, his voice betraying his growing worry.

"Give me a minute!" Charlie responded, trying not to sound too irritated. "Bill?"

Bill let out a sigh, then kind of nudged Charlie's arm towards his right leg. Charlie reached down, touching the knee first.

"Shin," Bill growled and Charlie soon encountered that indeed, Bill's leg was most definitely broken or badly bruised at the least. In any case, he could feel some malformation and swelling already.

"Doesn't seem like an open fracture," Charlie said with relief, even as Bill was trying hard not to clock him one.

"Splendid!" he hissed and Charlie let go of the appendage. Actually, it was good. Last thing he wanted was having to deal with an open fracture. Never again.

"Can you feel your foot?" Charlie reached down a bit, pressing on the top of Bill's shoe. The man grunted, moving his leg marginally in test.

"Yeah," came a rather disgruntled reply.

"Any other injuries?" he asked, trying to sound as if the leg wasn't such a big deal. He was sure Bill wouldn't really appreciate shows of compassion or care right now.

"Bruises. I have a huge one right on my ass... do you want to kiss it better?" Bill said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Charlie let out a chuckle.

"You're one big ass. We don't have that much time anyway," Charlie responded and was heartened to hear a responding chuckle, even though Bill was trying to mask it as a cough.

"Davis! The minute is over!" Lawson called out, clearly losing all his patience. "What the hell is going on down there?"

"Boss seems a bit tense," Charlie noted with more humour than he really felt.

"I wonder why," Bill added sarcastically.

Charlie nodded, even though no one could really see it. Then he looked upwards, squinting, trying to make out Lawson's figure. The large shadow hanging and slightly waving in the air just above their heads was in the way though. Charlie felt his throat go dry as he realized what it was. Not a shadow at all. The part of the staircase, hanging precariously on some bolts and a prayer. Nothing else.

The creak made it clear the structure was far from stable.

Charlie felt a shiver of apprehension run down his spine.

"Boss? I think we might need to call for help," Charlie called out, ignoring Bill's sudden protest of 'I'm fine, Davis!'

There was a suspicious silence and Charlie frowned.

"Boss?"

"How bad are the injuries?" Lawson asked instead of a reply.

"Possibly broken leg, " Charlie noted. "But there can be more. I'm not a doctor. We also still need to help the kid-"

"I very much doubt there is a kid," Lawson said and hearing that, even Bill stopped grumbling.

"What?"

"What's going on?" Charlie and Bill asked almost in unison.

"I'm pretty sure it's a recording. It's... on a loop."

Charlie frowned. He tried to listen. There was silence... then shortly after the wailing and call for help resumed, albeit much more muffled now that they were a floor down. For all he knew, it might've been just the wind crying through the staircase.

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked, uncertain.

"Pretty much. The slashed tires and the broken radio in the car are proof enough. This was a trap."

And just like that, Charlie felt as if he was doused by a bucket of ice water.

"What?"

"Slashed tires?" Bill repeated, as if worried he misheard.

"Someone out there is trying to make sure we won't call for help. Or return to the town anytime soon."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Lawson admitted. "Either they want to keep us out of way for some reason, or this is some elaborate sick plan to take us out. I can't be sure right now."

Charlie gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling like it wasn't just the building conspiring against them.

"We need to get out," he thought, then repeated it out loud. There was just too many things that could go wrong, too many threats lurking in the darkness. Not to mention... Lawson was a floor away... unarmed and alone. With who knew how many bad guys around. And there was no way to call for help.

"Have you seen anyone, Boss?" Bill asked, startling Charlie out of his grim thoughts.

"No. But I doubt it were kangaroos messing up the cars with a knife," Lawson grumbled.

"Wouldn't put it past them," Charlie noted only half in jest. He had no love lost for the critters for some reason. They did tend to jump in front of his car at the most inopportune of moments after all.

"You need to watch out," Bill warned Lawson.

"I'm aware. Don't worry about my hide. We need to get the two of you out first and foremost."

Well, that might be just a bit of a problem, Charlie thought, looking up into the darkness. Theoretically... they might be able to jump up and grab the bottom of the staircase, then climb it up to get back to the first floor. But of course that was just theory... and a stupid one at that. Especially seeing how unstable the staircase was in the first place. Hearing a warning creak... Charlie was pretty sure the thing would collapse right on top of them with the slightest touch.

Hell... it might happen in the next few minutes without them even breathing on it.

"I've got the rope from the car," Lawson called out, as if reading his thoughts. "But it's too risky for you to try and come up here. It sounds as if it might fall any moment," he warned, voice filled with concern.

Charlie nodded, even though no one could see him.

"We can try the staircase in the other wing," he noted hesitantly. That would after all mean that he and Bill needed to walk through the unknown underground floor of the asylum, in total darkness and with Bill's messed up ankle. Charlie shot a look towards where he thought the door to the floor might be. All he saw was utter blackness... all he felt was fear. And the smell of mouldy decay.

"Can you get there?" Lawson asked slowly, as if thinking it through.

"Sure," It was Bill who answered, sounding way more certain than Charlie. But then... Bill probably thought Lawson's only concern was for his leg halting their movement. While Charlie was worried about other things. Hidden in the shadows... waiting.

Charlie shook off the feeling of dread. Or he tried to. No. He read too many scary stories as a kid, that was all. No monsters, no ghosts existed. Darkness after all was just the absence of light, nothing else.

Still... absence of light in this case was a rather big problem. If the bad state of the staircase was anything to go by, the rest of the building was most likely in horrendous shape. Not to mention the little fact that there just might've been traps or people lurking around, waiting for the right moment to attack.

"Light. We need some light first," Charlie grunted, feeling slightly panicked when he thought about them traipsing through the building in total darkness... either them or Lawson, because there were no more torches in the cars.

Next to him, Bill started moving around. Charlie wanted to tell him to stop and stay still, but he was somehow hoping that Bill managed to keep a hold of his torch. No such luck obviously or they wouldn't be still fumbling around in the dark.

"What's going on down there?" Lawson called out nervously.

"Looking for the torch!" Bill called back, disgruntled even as his hands were reaching around. Charlie joined in the effort, hissing as he discovered sharp edges and rough stone. There was a moment of silence, filled only with the sound of their movement and hard breathing, the occasional clearing of the throat as they were becoming more and more irritated by the settling dust. And the ominous creaking, joined with the wailing sound from far above.

"If you don't find it, I'll throw you mine," Lawson said determinedly.

Charlie shook his head.

"No. Not leaving you alone and in the dark, boss," he said with a grimace. "We had two, damn it. They must be somewhere here..."

The light from up above moved to a different angle, in a slow circle. It didn't make everything clear, because the hanging staircase was in the way, but some of managed to shine through.

Charlie stopped patting around for a second, just sitting down on his heels and squinting around, trying to make out the shapes in the shadows.

'There!' he thought as he saw something metallic glint. It was silver instead of the rusty red. He got up on his feet, hunched over and gritting his teeth, pausing momentarily as things crunched under his feet.

He was still hopeful as he leaned over and pulled out the familiar shape from under the debris. That was until his fingers felt the shattered glass. Still, he tried to turn it on, hoping at least for a flicker. Nothing.

"Damn it!" Charlie cursed, forcing back the urge to throw the thing against the wall in a sudden jolt of anger. Only thing stopping him was the thought even such a small crash might be enough to send the metal hanging above them toppling down on their heads.

"Davis?"

"Found one. It's broken," he admitted with some defeat. He was about to call out to Lawson and admit defeat, perhaps ask the man at least for some matches they could use.

Hobart made a strange sound.

Charlie paused, then with a hiss closed his eyes as light hit him right in the face.

"Well, aren't you a sight," Hobart said and there was an obvious smirk in his voice.

Charlie didn't care. He was too ecstatic to actually have a working torch to complain about it being pointed in his face.

"We got one!" he called out to Lawson and could practically feel the relief of the man when he realized neither of them will be stuck in total darkness. At least as long as the light worked.

Before throwing away his useless torch, Charlie took out the batteries, figuring they might still work in case of need. He stuffed them in his pocket, then crossed the small space back to Bill's half lying, half sitting form.

Hobart was shining the light upwards and Charlie couldn't help but look. He really wished he hadn't. Suddenly, getting away from the place seemed much more pressing. There was no way that staircase would last long.

"We should move," Hobart spoke, his voice just a bit choked. Charlie agreed.

"Yeah. We should," he knelt down next to Bill and reached for the light. Bill didn't release it though, instead aimed it at the surrounding walls, towards the black hole in the wall.

Some time ago there most likely used to be a door, just like upstairs. Right now there was nothing, only a darkened corridor behind. Charlie really didn't want to go that way but knew they had no other choice.

"You better get moving!" came a warning from upstairs.

Charlie leaned down and with a grimace as all his bruises protested, he helped Bill up to his feet. Or rather, one foot. They stood there for a few seconds, both breathing harshly. Bill was leaning against him with his full weight, the torch in his hand shaking wildly. Charlie let him regain his composure, ignoring the colourful curses filling his ears when Bill tried to take a step.

"Careful. Move with me," Charlie said through gritted teeth and took a few steps with Bill's weight on his shoulders. They were almost by the door when they paused.

"Meet you at the other side, Boss!" Charlie called out. "Stay safe!"

"Yeah yeah. Just get your ass moving!"

Charlie snorted and felt Bill's frame shake, a chuckle hidden in his chest.

"All heart... that man," Charlie said as they reached the entrance to the corridor. They paused at the door frame as Bill swept the light around.

It was an uninspiring view... one that sent shivers down Charlie's spine. His feet felt frozen in place... but there was the sound of a creak and a sharp snap. Charlie and Bill stumbled into the corridor without knowing how. They made it several meters when there was a loud crash behind them. A cloud of dust and debris flew at them, propelling them forward a few steps, until they came to a total halt. Eyes wide, heart thudding wildly in their chests.

The rest of the staircase had just collapsed.

Only thing separating them from a nasty death was a minute or two. Too close. It was too close.

* * *

"What are we going to do?" Rose asked and Blake grimaced. It was a good question, one that was hard to answer. One thing was clear to him though.

" _We_ are not doing anything. Last thing I want is to get you involved when we don't know the situation," Blake told Rose, though he made sure to glance at Jean too. He wasn't really prepared for the narrowing of two pairs of eyes, even though he expected it.

"What do you mean? It's my uncle and... Charlie. I have all the right to be there."

Blake sighed, glancing at Danny as if to ask for his help. Danny had a rather sheepish look on his face though. It seemed that years spent in the presence of Jean and Mattie had taught him to be wary. Something that Blake should've perhaps learned too.

Blake waved his hand in an appeasing manner, although he noted it barely seemed to work. Rose's lips stayed pursed and her arms were crossed over her chest, while Jean was looking at him questioningly. Clearly at least giving him the chance to explain.

"Let's not argue right now. We need to figure out what's wrong and how to help."

Rose huffed, but settled down on the couch. Danny's stance seemed to relax marginally and Blake would almost find it amusing if not for the situation.

"What's your plan then?"

Blake shrugged.

"I think me and Danny should head out to the station and see what's the situation."

Rose opened her mouth to protest, but this time Jean beat her to it.

"Are you really planning to just 'walk' inside? Without any backup?"

"No, of course not. That would be stupid," he quickly amended, shooting a look towards Danny. The boy was already frowning, clearly thinking of something.

"Danny... you know some of the officers who are off duty now?"

Danny nodded.

"Yeah. I was already thinking about it. Do you know who was on duty for tonight?"

"I'm pretty sure Bill was scheduled. Don't know if there was someone else besides constable Thompson though..."

Danny was shaking his head, grimacing.

"Damn. I was hoping we could get Hobart... but if he got caught up in the situation, it's not good."

Blake couldn't but agree. Bill might've been a hot head and sometimes trouble to deal with, but he knew the station and people working there better than anyone else. Not to mention, if someone managed to take out him, Lawson and Charlie too... the situation was indeed dire.

"Call up whomever you can, Danny. Let's meet at the parking lot around the corner from the station, as soon as possible."

Danny nodded and headed to the hall to start phoning. Blake wasn't sure how many people he could get... not to mention most of those coppers wouldn't have weapons. After all, the guns were locked up at the station.

"So that's the brilliant plan?" Rose asked, rather in disbelief.

"We can hardly do much else until we see what's going on."

"Maybe try calling the station again and try to get information out of the constable?"

Blake shook his head.

"No. He sounded nervous enough. I really don't want to make the situation worse for him. Whomever is there might lose their nerve and hurt someone. Or they might get suspicious and we would lose the element of surprise."

"Element of surprise?" Jean raised her eyebrows. "Pray tell, how do you want to surprise them?"

Blake shrugged.

"We will see," he said, adding a small smile to ease the tension. Rose still didn't seem convinced.

"I want to come with," she muttered but Blake was already shaking his head.

"I really don't want you to get into danger. Not to mention... we will need some actual back up."

Rose paused.

"What?"

"If we don't get back to you within an hour... I want you to call the Bendigo station and tell them everything you know. Ask them to send help."

"Any reason why you are not doing that right now?" Jean popped in.

"I think it's best to... keep it local. Depends on how many men can Danny get, but it would be best to have people who know their way around the building."

Rose's eyes narrowed once again, her lips pursed.

"That's not all though. You don't want this to go out. To protect uncle Matthew?"

They all knew that Lawson's position was a bit more precarious, not least because of all the trouble Blake managed to get himself into. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding... or maybe a huge disaster. Blake would prefer knowing which one first though before involving outsiders.

"Something like that," he admitted. He was expecting Rose to keep on protesting but he noticed Jean had settled herself next to the girl and gently squeezed her hand, giving her an undecipherable look. Rose didn't look happy but didn't say anything else.

Blake wasn't sure if it calmed him or not. But he didn't want to lose time pondering about when they had bigger issues at hand.

"I'll go see how's Danny doing," he muttered and headed out into the corridor. Danny was busy talking to someone and gave Blake a nod as he passed. Blake headed upstairs and towards his office. He took out a key from a desk drawer and unlocked the cabinet. He took out his gun and checked it over, grabbing some ammunition as well. He hoped there will be no need to use it, but it was better to be prepared. He also grabbed his medical bag. He worried one of those two things will get some use tonight.

When he returned downstairs, Danny had just hung up.

"Well?"

Danny shrugged.

"I managed to get hold of three guys. They will try to call a few more whose numbers I don't know, but I'm not holding my breath. I think most of the guys are out having a beer or something."

Blake nodded. Three people weren't much, but perhaps it was better the less people got involved.

"Alright. Let's head out and see what's going on."

Danny nodded and grabbed his jacket.

"Just like old times then?" he quipped with a smirk as they headed towards the door. Blake couldn't stop the chuckle.

"Don't tell me you didn't miss this."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"What... the danger and crazy situations? Nah," he shook his head and threw a look at the two women who now stood in the hallway, watching them with rather strange looks on their faces. It was a mix of worry and anger and both Danny and Blake cringed, expecting another barrage of comments.

Jean sighed, then handed Blake his hat and kissed him.

"Be careful," she said simply and Blake smiled, once again reminded of the fact he loved his wife very much.

"What, I don't get a kiss?" Danny teased Rose. She rolled her eyes and huffed, not moving from her spot. Jean pulled Danny into a quick hug and pecked him on the cheek. Danny sputtered, surprised.

"I meant-"

"You better go. Before you will be the one in need of rescuing," Jean advised him and Danny quickly scrammed towards the door.

"Right. We better move, Doc," he said as he passed by. Blake snorted.

"One hour, alright?" he said and Jean nodded.

Blake left with mixed feelings. On one side, he hated telling Jean she shouldn't come along, on the other hand he really didn't want her anywhere close to danger. Knowing she and Rose were home safe was one thing less to worry about.

* * *

"Well... they are gone. Want to tell me why I should just... sit around like some damsel?" Rose asked as soon as the car with Blake and Danny pulled out from the driveway.

Jean rolled her eyes.

"No one said anything about sitting around. But you need to pick your battles. And Lucien was right. He shouldn't be worrying or arguing with us right now."

Rose's eyes narrowed. It was clear she was suspicious.

"You don't seem upset at all. Don't tell me you don't want to go after them."

Jean shook her head.

"Of course I do. I just don't want them distracted by it."

"What?" Rose blinked, confused by the sudden change. Jean gave her a pointed look, then nodded towards the window.

"If I remember, you do have a perfectly fine car parked just outside," she noted and she had to bite down on her tongue not to laugh when she saw the look of consternation on Rose's face.

For the sake of the situation, she ignored the colourful curse that followed. Of course, Rose might've actually forgotten because her car had been parked here for the last day. It had broken down before her trip to Bendigo but Charlie drove it back from the garage as soon as it was repaired.

"The keys?" Rose asked hopefully and Jean pointed towards the small bowl near the door. Rose grabbed them with a satisfied smile and a ferocious glint in her eyes.

"I would give them a few minutes of a head start," Jean noted. "We know where they are going and there's no need for them to notice us trailing behind."

Rose nodded and shot a look at the clock.

"Five minutes. I'm not waiting any longer," she said resolutely.

"That's fine. Just the time I need to get changed into something more appropriate for a bit of detective work," Jean said with a wink and headed upstairs. There was something to be said for living with Lucien Blake. Her days were never boring.


	4. Chapter 4

_Stupid. So stupid!'_ Eddie Korbyn thought for what felt like millionth time that day. He was pacing the small cell, trying to ignore the drunken singing coming from the cell on his right and feeling jealous about the bastard in the cell in front of him, who was snoring away. They were just two local idiots who will most likely be released in the morning.

Not so much Eddie.

No. Because he fucked up and let himself get caught. Before he even managed to establish anything. Most of the money his cousin gave him to start out in this sucky part of Victoria had been spent on booze and girls. And petrol, because hell, he needed something to start the fires.

He had one job. Only one... to mark out his place and get them some business. He was sure that as soon as he would've managed to take over a few small business, his cousin Dave would have sent him more money and support. Right now he only had a few guys at his disposal and they all scattered as soon as the cops appeared. Eddie was too busy trying to kick the shit out of a bit too spunky shop owner to notice in time and the bloody bastards left him there. Figures.

Eddie knew he shouldn't have trusted them, but then they were Dave's men. If nothing else, Eddie knew that his cousin already got a report on his situation. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.

On one hand, Eddie wanted Dave to send someone and bail him out. Perhaps a better lawyer might do. He knew the family had the money and they had already got a lawyer before for some of the family members.

On the other hand, Eddie was worried. He had managed to fail on his first solo mission, the one that was supposed to get him really accepted into the family business. Eddie hated that. He wasn't sure how many failures was Dave willing to tolerate... this one sure as hell wasn't the first one to happen to him. Far from that actually, which made Eddie so surprised when he heard the scuffle. There was a yelp of pain, the sound of something firm hitting flesh then a thud. Eddie had already crossed the cell and plastered his face against the bars, curious.

"What-" he watched with a frown as a masked figure leaned over a body. He shut up, but it was too late. The figure heard him. The man's head rose and Eddie froze. There was just something...

" _Tee?"_ he uttered after a second, when the man shot him a smirk and Eddie saw the crooked front tooth.

The man hissed, shooting a look around then marginally relaxed his shoulders and left the unconscious cop lying face down on the floor. Another man that Eddie didn't instantly recognize knelt down next to him and started patting him over, searching.

Tee, or rather Thomas, though Eddie never called him that, stepped right up to the bars, giving Eddie a somehow disproving look.

"Really man? First solo and you fuck it up?"

Eddie suddenly felt all of three years old instead of twenty eight.

"It wasn't my fault," he started but Tee shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh.

"I don't bloody care. And it's not me who you need to explain to. Dave is waiting for you... rather impatiently," Tee said and Eddie felt a shudder of apprehension. That meant Dave was pissed. Of course he was. Dave had quite a temper on him as it was. Eddie didn't really fancy facing him after such a fuck up.

"You didn't have to come," Eddie hissed. "I-"

"What, you had it handled?" Tee snorted then turned towards the fallen cop and the other guy.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he asked impatiently.

"Gimme a minute for hell's sake. Or do you think I enjoy patting down a copper?"

"Mike?" Eddie uttered, startled to recognize the youngest addition to the family. Mike shot him a glare.

"Shut the fuck up!" he hissed, clearly not appreciating his name being spoken.

Tee rolled his eyes.

"Come on. As if anyone here will have a chance to identify you," he stated with a smirk.

"Why the hell are we wearing these stupid masks then?"

Tee shrugged.

"Psychological effect. They don't have to know," he winked playfully. Eddie blanched.

Did it mean what he thought it meant? Did his cousin order this stint set on killing whoever was present? Eddie wouldn't put it past the man, but it still made him shudder. Tee shot him a look and Eddie knew that however apprehensive he might've been, it didn't matter. It was either following Dave's orders or perishing with everyone else.

"Gotcha!" Mike called out jubilantly as he finally found a set of keys. He pulled them off of the unconscious cop with a rattle then threw them at Tee.

The rattle of keys in the lock managed what words and grunts didn't. The snoring and the drunken singing had came to a halt. Eddie noticed two pairs of eyes watching through their respective cells, curious and only half aware of what was happening.

"Get lost losers!" Tee barked at the two men. The one who had slept up until now gazed blearily at them. Tee bared his teeth and pointed his gun straight at the man's face. He blinked, slowly raised his arms and took a step back. Without a word the man had settled back on his cot and turned his back towards them. It was clear he didn't want any part in this.

The drunken one was the exact opposite however. The singing might've stopped, only for the barrage of words starting up instead.

"Hey hey boys, why dontcha open this door?" the man asked, drawling the last world even as his hands rattled the bars impatiently.

Tee shot him a glare of disgust, but decided to ignore him. Mike wasn't as gracious, definitely not after the drunk got a bit fed up and spat towards him. He grabbed the cop's baton and smacked it forcefully against the fingers treaming the bars. The drunk howled in pain, spitting out a string of curses as he fell back, clutching at his hand. Eddie was sure at least one of those fingers must've been broken. He grimaced but didn't comment. Tee had just found the right key and the lock popped open. Despite his misgivings, Eddie was happy to step out of the damn cell. It was making him claustrophobic.

"Do you know what they have on you?" Tee asked, leaning against the open cell door.

Eddie shrugged.

"Some of my stuff... fingerprints I think. The... the tapes. From interrogation," he added, looking away in embarrassment. He didn't say much, but the cop managed to trick him... and he might've let something slip. He wasn't even sure what but he knew they had it on tape.

Tee didn't say a word, he just nodded. He most likely expected that.

Mike shot him a glare though.

"What now?" Eddie asked as he now stood only a feet or so from the cop lying on the floor. He could see the man was still breathing, the only obvious injury a splotch of redness running down his neck from where Tee struck him with the gun.

"Now you strip and change clothes with him," Tee said, pointing at the cop as if it was the most normal request.

"What?"

"Are you deaf? Strip! You are about the same size. And we can always use a cop uniform for later."

Mike chuckled.

"Oh yeah, that might be fun," he said. Eddie grimaced. Last thing he wanted was to go swapping clothes with an unconscious guy, but knew better than to oppose Tee. He was Dave's right hand man after all. One mean son of a bitch Eddie didn't want to cross, especially not in his current position. So he squatted down and started pulling off the cop's clothes.

"A bit of help?" he asked after a moment, realizing it was anything but fun to get clothes off of a dead weight.

"What, ya don't know how to do it? Just treat him like one of your lady friends," Mike noted with a sick smirk.

Eddie scowled.

"Dunno what you're doing, but my lady friends are usually awake and quite willing to help," he added.

Mike snorted, opening his mouth for some smart retort most likely, but Tee was losing patience.

"Shut up both of you and get on with it!" he barked, waving his gun, then smacking it against the bars as the drunkard in the cell resumed his wailing over the smashed fingers.

"Shut the fuck up or I'll break your other hand too!" he threatened. "Move it!" he spat back to Eddie and both he and Mike scrambled to do as they were told.

After several minutes of struggling, they had the cop stripped to his knackers and socks. Eddie had somehow proceeded to put on the uniform, feeling weirded out by the prospect. Also kind of like a kid, when they were playing cops and robbers and he somehow managed to land the role of the copper. In their community, it meant that he was usually the first one to be killed in the game. Unless he played the crooked cop card. Then he could join the other kids in the true fun.

Now he had to dress up as a cop to be able to join the group. Wasn't that just ironic.

"What about him?" Mike asked, his eyes glinting with some sick excitement as he watched the uniform divested cop, still unconscious and helpless on the floor. Eddie haven't noticed until now, but Mike had pulled out his hunting knife and was running his fingers over the blade almost absentmindedly.

"Now you put Eddie's clothes on him," Tee said, to the surprise of all.

Mike froze.

"What?"

"Put those clothes... back on him," Tee said, carefully annunciating, as if talking to someone hard of hearing. Or thinking.

"Why? We can just cut the pig right here-"

"Fucking hell, do as I told you! And put away that stupid knife before you cut off your damn fingers," Tee said with a flash of disgust. Mike glared.

"Dress him up yourself if you want. I'm not a damn butler."

Eddie could see this wasn't going to end well. Mike was too young and hot headed and Tee was... well. He didn't take well to that. He wondered what the hell was Dave even thinking, sending these two out together.

Easiest way to douse the fire though was to get moving. And the faster they did what Tee planned, the faster he could be out of this place. Somehow, having the uniform on just made him more nervous. More out of his element.

So he knelt down and started trying to pull his own trousers on the cop. It was even harder than getting them off. He cursed and grunted until Tee snapped impatiently at Mike to give him a hand or he will have a word with him outside. Mike looked as if he would have preferred the chance to go fist to fist against Tee but after a few seconds of the glaring contest some of the blood must've actually reached his brain, because he saw the light. With grumbling, he joined Eddie in the effort. Pants done, they moved to the shirt. Eddie was just propping the cop up into a sitting position, while Mike was pulling angrily on his arm, trying to manoeuvre it through a sleeve. Eddie could swear he heard a snicker come from Tee but he didn't look up.

He felt the body in his arms suddenly stiffen and knew that the cop was coming to his senses. That perhaps he had been awake for some time now.

He didn't get a chance to cry out a warning. As soon as the body stiffened, the cop smacked his head backwards, hitting Eddie square in the face with the back of his skull.

Eddie felt blood and pain bursting from his nose as he yelped, letting go of the cop and reaching up to his face in pain.

He wasn't sure what happened in the next moment. Tears sprung into his eyes and he had them shut tight, teeth gritted to stop the string of curses running through his lips. He didn't see, but he could feel movement. He heard cursing, the sound of smacking. A pained scream, a heavy boot landing on something. A crack of a bone... then silence.

He was panting, unable to breathe through his nose, but he wasn't the only one.

"Fucking pig, he fucking stabbed me!" Mike wailed and Eddie managed to open his eyes. He had to blink a few times but he made out the gruesome picture.

Mike was sitting on the floor, back leaning against the corridor wall, both his hands clutching at his leg, holding something. There was blood seeping through his fingers, smears of blood on the floor, leading to the fallen form of the cop.

The man was once again unconscious. His chest was still rising and Eddie could hear an occasional moan escaping the bloodied lips. The man's right hand was a mess and Eddie thought Tee must've stomped on it at some point. Good. The bastard deserved it, for breaking Eddie's nose.

"Fucking hell!" Mike kept wailing and Eddie moved onto his knees. Tee was cursing, looking at Mike's leg and Eddie saw it was the hilt of the knife embedded in his thigh that he was holding.

"Stop with the noise! It's all your fault you idiot. If you had put that knife away, he would've done squat."

"My leg! Tee, my leg!"

"Yeah yeah, I can see. Hold still," Tee said and without any warning he pulled the knife out. Mike screamed, then promptly passed out.

"Bloody hell!" Eddie cursed and scrambled to his feet. "What the hell? You can't do that!" he said, his own bloodied hands reaching towards the ugly wound in Mike's thigh.

Tee just shrugged.

"It's either a scratch or he's dead anyway. We don't have time for theatrics. Bandage it up with something. We need to move."

While Eddie looked around frantically trying to find something to use as a bandage, Tee had grabbed the unresponsive cop by the arms and dragged him into Eddie's cell. He didn't bother putting him on the cot, though he did grab a pillow and pulled off the case.

"Here. Use this," he said, throwing Eddie the pillowcase. "I swear, I must do everything around here," Tee grumbled.

Eddie wanted to have some choice words but thought better of it. Instead, he wrapped the bleeding wound as tight as possible. It was bleeding, but wasn't spurting and he thought Mike might even survive this. When he tied the knot, the man underneath stirred, letting out a pitiful moan. Eddie tried not to feel just a bit of glee over that. He never liked Mike after all.

Tee had in the meantime locked the cell door and stashed the keys in his pocket. Eddie caught him staring at the unconscious copper and he could see the gun in his right hand leaning against the bars, finger brushing over the trigger.

Eddie leaned a bit harder on Mike's thigh, eliciting a moan. Tee turned to look at them, pulled out of his contemplation.

"What now?" Eddie asked, running a hand over his face to brush away the blood from his nose.

"Do try not to ruin the damned uniform first, huh?" Tee snapped. Eddie would have snorted if his broken nose hadn't made it impossible. The front of his uniform was already spattered with blood and there was also a bloody handprint on his trousers as he unconsciously rubbed his hand on it. While the dark material did a good job at hiding the blood, it was still pretty visible. Eddie would very much prefer the ability to breathe freely.

"You're both pathetic," Tee shook his head, then waved his gun. "Time to go. We need to look around and make sure there's no evidence linking back to the family."

"What about him?" Eddie asked, nodding towards Mike. He was starting to come back, though that was hardly a win as his first words were a string of curses aimed at Eddie's parentage.

"We can hardly leave him here now, can we? Help him up. He came all this way to help you out, least you can do is return the favour, right?"

"Right," Eddie grunted even as he was leaning down and propping up the half unconscious man. It took almost as much effort to get him back up on his feet as it was to strip the cop. Eddie was seriously starting to think that nudging Dave to give him this chance and let him prove himself was one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Mike's pained grunts and moans right next to him seemed to just strengthen that feeling.

* * *

For a whole minute they just stood in place, backs pushed against the wall. The torch in Bill's hand was shakily pointing towards the space they had just evacuated. All they could see was a mess of metal and dust.

Charlie coughed and grimaced, his lungs already irritated. He turned away, not wanting to breathe the dust and dirt in the air. The coughing made the pain in his ribs worse and he was already sore enough.

"Let's... go," he said, pulling Bill's left arm more securely around his shoulder and turning them both towards the unknown darkness.

Bill grunted and took a stumbling step, but they weren't yet synchronized. Charlie didn't move fast enough and Bill's broken leg involuntarily touched the ground.

"Bloody hell!" Bill cursed and Charlie stopped and let Bill pull away and lean against the wall to get his bearings.

"Maybe we should stabilize that leg first," he mused, remembering how the medics made sure not to move Lawson's leg when getting him into the car. While Bill didn't have an open fracture, Charlie thought that securing the leg might be a good idea. But what to use?

"If you touch it, I'll beat you with the torch," Bill growled, but the pain in his voice made the threat seem like empty words.

Charlie ignored it, trying to find something they could use. He thought perhaps he could use some metal pieces from the debris behind them, but one look into the utter mess changed his mind. All he needed were two straight pieces...

Charlie's hand reached to his belt. There it was... still safely tucked in the holster.

"Do you have your baton?" Charlie asked, casting a glance down Bill's form and reaching towards the item before Bill could.

"Hey! Hands off!" Bill protested but Charlie already had what he wanted. Now he needed something to tie it together...

"I'll need your belt as well," he said after a second. He was pretty sure trying to take that off without Bill's consent would end up in a black eye and a broken nose, even in Bill's current state.

"Like hell I will!" Bill grumbled, putting one hand protectively on his belt, and aiming the torch at Charlie as if it was a loaded gun.

Charlie let out an irritated huff.

"Look, we can hobble around like idiots, but if you keep stepping on that leg it might just snap. I also doubt it feels all that good hanging like this."

Bill's silence was enough of an answer.

"We will move faster once it's done. Or do you want to stop every second step?"

Bill grunted then let out a heavy, painful sigh.

Charlie thought he was gearing up for an argument, but then he saw Bill's hand move towards his belt, undoing it clumsily.

"If my pants fall down, you won't get out of this hole alive Davis, I swear," Bill grumbled as he was handing over his belt and pulling at the waistline of his pants, trying to reassure himself it would hold.

Charlie held back a chuckle, but let an amused smirk touch his face.

He did the same as Bill, now slightly regretting the lack of food. His pants seemed to threaten slipping down, fortunately they stopped at his hips. Grimacing, Charlie helped Bill sit down on the dirty floor. Squatting down, he looked at Bill. He was of half mind to take the torch from his hands just in case he felt the urge to come good on his threat and smash it against his head as soon Charlie touched his injured leg. But he needed his own hands free and someone to hold the torch and aim the light.

"I'll try to be careful, but this might hurt. Try not to kill me in the process?" he warned Bill and waited for his unhappy assent.

"Stop gabbing around and just bloody do it!"

Charlie rolled his eyes, then went to work.

First thing he did was put both belts under Bill's leg, then arranged the batons so they were straight along the shin. Ignoring the pained hiss and a string of curses, Charlie pulled both belts as tight as he dared, securing the batons to Bill's injured leg. He checked the tightness, not wanted to cut off the circulation in the leg. Satisfied that he did what he could, Charlie sat back on his hunches, giving Bill a few minutes to gather his strength and get a handle on the pain.

Once he heard Bill let out a long, controlled sigh, Charlie got back up to his feet.

"Ready or do you need a bit more time?"

"I was ready before you started torturing me," Bill grumbled, but held out his hand, begrudgingly accepting the help. With Charlie's help he managed to get back on his feet, or rather foot. He was holding the injured leg a bit above the ground.

"Is it any better?" Charlie asked and was surprised when Bill answered.

"Yeah."

"Let's go then," Charlie said and moved under Bill's arm to serve as his crutch. The first few steps were awkward and for a moment Bill managed to put all his weight on Charlie.

Charlie hissed.

When they finally found some balance and neither of them felt like taking a header, Charlie felt almost like laughing. They were a sore pair. Bill seemed to have come to the same conclusion. He snorted.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Bill asked gruffly when Charlie halted, positioning Bill's arm so it wasn't pressing against a sore spot on his shoulder.

"I really hope you're not about to keel over, cause I'm not hauling your ass anywhere."

Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Right. I wouldn't expect anything else. Ready to go?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't betray any of his discomfort. It was one thing to feel like he was run over by a car, something else to show it in front of Bill Hobart. The man wasn't exactly the caring type and last thing Charlie needed was relentless teasing for showing some kind of weakness.

Bill didn't move and Charlie was suddenly blinded by the torch.

"Bill!" he growled, pushing away the irritating thing then rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear them from all the stars peppering his vision.

"I need to know I can lean on you, Davis," Bill stated and his voice was uncharacteristically void of sarcasm.

Charlie was a bit taken aback by that. He could feel the tension in Bill's body and thought that perhaps he could risk being upfront this time.

"I'm fine. Just a few... bruised ribs."

Bill snorted.

"Maybe you should drink more milk. Your ribs are awful brittle, old man," Bill joked and Charlie huffed.

"That's rich, coming from a guy with a broken leg."

"A staircase fell on me," Bill protested.

"Same here," Charlie grunted.

Bill grumbled something under his breath but stopped pestering him. It was clear he was biding his time and Charlie could sympathize with that. A shiver ran down his spine at the mere thought of having to start down the dark, unwelcoming corridor. But there was simply no other way out. Perhaps it was best to get it over with as soon as possible.

"Alright. Do you want to give me the torch or keep it?"

"I found it, I keep it," Bill said matter of factly. Charlie wasn't about to argue. He could use one free hand, just to balance them out. Or to punch someone popping out from behind the corner. Whatever was needed.

"In that case... shine it around. I want to see where to go."

Bill had so far kept the light trailed either at where they came from or on the floor right ahead of them. As if he was afraid to see what lie ahead. Now though there was no choice.

The light had made a slow arc around them and Charlie's eyes took in a proper view of their surroundings. He wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

The walls, previously most likely painted in a green or yellowish colour were now a shade of grey. Paint was peeling off in huge chunks, showing behind cold and musty concrete. There was mould where the side wall met the ceiling. Charlie could see a row of clunky lights, or rather, ruined fixtures, hanging above them. Some still had light bulbs, most though were broken. Like everything around, it seemed.

The floor ahead of them was littered with pieces of wood and plaster. It looked as if someone really angry took a chainsaw and decided to make plywood of all the doors. Charlie swallowed. He didn't like passing by closed doors, not knowing what lie behind, but in this case... he would have most definitely preferred that. It seemed though as if fate and some past visitors didn't want to allow him that small mercy. As far down the corridor as Charlie could see, there were dark doorways, without doors. Just waiting for them to pass by.

"Shit," he said unconsciously and felt an imperceptible shiver run through Bill's frame.

"Yeah," Bill conquered. "Shit about covers it," he said and moved the light until it landed on a big, crooked board plastered on the wall next to the first room they were about to pass.

Bill and Charlie headed towards it in unison.

"Treatment room E101. Workroom therapy," Charlie read and Bill shone the light inside the room.

"Doesn't look... that bad," Charlie commented with a hint of surprise. He saw several tables with sewing machines, the remnants of what reminded him of a tailor's stove. There were no chairs or clothes, only dust and cobwebs covering everything.

"I didn't know they made them work," Charlie noted.

"Occupational therapy," Bill muttered and nudged Charlie to turn back towards the corridor. "I think some patients even got paid for work. The lucky ones," Bill's voice was tense and Charlie wanted to ask how did he know, but thought better of it. They had a long walk ahead and the last thing he wanted was to hear the history of the place. Not while he was stuck inside of it.

Moving ahead was a slow process. Made slower by the fact they had to manoeuvre around the wooden debris on the floor. Bill's one legged hopping wasn't exactly helpful and Charlie gritted his teeth constantly. Bruised ribs sucked on a good day, but having to haul another person around in the darkness, barely seeing under your feet made it tiresome very quickly.

Bill wasn't faring much better. Charlie could already feel the back of his shirt turning damp with sweet. Well, he hoped it was sweat. If Bill was bleeding or hiding an injury, they were screwed.

As they hobbled forward, the light kept bobbing up and down. Bill at least tried to keep it aimed ahead of them, so they could see where they were going. They had passed two more doors. Charlie didn't pause to read the description of the rooms. He didn't even want to catch sight of what lie inside, but it was hard. Both he and Bill made a wide berth when passing a dark doorway, practically hugging the opposite wall.

It was ridiculous. They were two adults, cops at that, in what was supposed to be a long abandoned psychiatric asylum. There were no ghosts, no patients. True, there might've been someone lurking around, someone who had a knife and who already used it on their cars. But Charlie couldn't really imagine that person hiding in one of those horrible rooms. He didn't want to.

Still, he couldn't avert his eyes completely and caught sight of several cots, separated by a wall of bars. He froze momentarily, trying to figure out the reason and function of such a place, but Bill nudged him forward.

"Step it up, Davis," he grunted. "We can't dilly dally. Lawson is up there, alone."

Bill was right. Charlie shuddered. Lawson was upstairs, walking the same horrifying corridor all alone, with a possible threat around the corner. They couldn't be losing time on things long gone.

"Yeah," Charlie muttered and focused on just moving in step with Bill. For a short while it was easy. His mind was just on taking one step after the other, keeping their balance and making sure neither of them stumbled over the mess on the floor. But turning his focus on movement made his mind focus also on other things. Like smells and sounds.

The smell... the mould and wetness had a tangy edge to it. Charlie felt as if it was slowly coating the inside of his nose, he could almost taste it in the back of his mouth. He ran his hand repeatedly over his nose, then grimaced when he managed to smear some of the blood from a cut on his hand on his face. Now the fresh smell of copper joined the mix and Charlie forced back the urge to heave.

He took a few breaths through his mouth but it barely made a difference. He let out a frustrated sigh... and that's when he realized how silent it was. The only sounds were their own footsteps and grunts. He could hear Bill's breath, as loud as if the walls themselves were alive and breathing.

Charlie shuddered.

"What's wrong?" Bill asked, and his voice cut through Charlie's momentary nightmare.

"Nothing," he said curtly. "Keep going."

Bill huffed, but didn't comment.

They kept walking. Charlie was trying to push the sound of Bill's breathing to the background. He wanted to hear something else... or rather, he didn't. Just the idea of there being a new sound, a sound that wasn't made by them, made his skin crawl. It was enough he already felt the hair on the back of his neck standing at attention. He had to force down the urge not to spin around and make Bill shine the torch into the darkness. The sensation that they were being followed... that there was something hidden in the darkness, just waiting for them to step closer... it was overwhelming.

Another doorway, another entrance filled with shadows and the unknown lurked ahead. Charlie wanted to pass it with a wide berth, but he couldn't, not this time. There was a half busted door in their way. Charlie might be able to step over it, but Bill couldn't. They had to go left, right by the room.

Bill seemed to bear the same reluctance as Charlie. He was trying to keep the light ahead of them, but right now it was impossible. One could hardly pass a doorless room and at least peek inside. As if in silent agreement, they paused in front of the entrance and Bill shone the light inside.

"What the hell?" Charlie uttered after a second.

The room was filled with bathtubs.

Old, dirty bathtubs. Some of them had dirt inside, some had rust eating away at the legs. It wasn't as much the bathtubs themselves that made Charlie stare in wonder. It was the canvas sheets covering some of them. The questionable stains... the smear of what could've been blood across the side of one of the tubs. Charlie counted six of them. Six tubs with disintegrating canvas that looked more like torture devices than something used to keep clean. The ones where the cover was missing showed long restraints lying idly at the bottom of the tub.

The baths didn't have taps. They had a long bar on the sides, to which the canvas was attached. The rational part of Charlie's brain thought that perhaps the canvas cover was there to offer the patients some semblance of privacy during a relaxing bath. The scared and rather imaginative part of his brain though... that was coming up with thoughts he didn't care for.

There were two long hoses in the corner of the room, lying there half uncurled like a lazy pair of snakes. As Bill's hand shook, the light trembled too, making the shadows move threateningly. It looked almost as if the hoses moved, slithering towards them.

Charlie took a stumbling step backwards, dragging Bill with him.

"L-let's go."

Bill didn't protest.

As they sidestepped the fallen door, leaving the room with the tubs behind, Charlie caught sight of the plaque on the wall.

Treatment room 105. Hydrotherapy.

Charlie breathed in sharply. Therapy. Was this what they counted as therapy? It was clear from the canvas covers that whomever was put inside that tub was then kept trapped. He could only guess how much water had filled the tub with the hose, whether the water was icy cold or scolding hot. All he could imagine was an already scared person, trapped inside the metal coffin filling with water, scratching their fingernails against the canvas. All he could hear were the echoes of the ghostly screams that overpowered even the thumping of his own blood inside his head.

"I hate this place," he said, unaware he spoke out loud until he heard Bill's tight tone. "Me too."

* * *

Lawson was already heading down the corridor, dragging the rope and leaning more and more heavily on his cane when he heard the crash. He paused, standing still for well over a minute, just listening. He didn't hear any cries for help or screaming, if he didn't count the barely audible sound coming from the floor above. He looked back, seeing a cloud of dust coming from the doorway. He was almost ten meters from it... and he had walked slowly. Surely Charlie and Bill had enough time to get safely out of the way...

He had to believe that. There was no sense in returning and calling into the dark pit below. He had to trust his men and the fact he would meet them at the other end of the building.

Swallowing down the rock that seemed to have permanently lodged itself in his throat, Lawson resumed his walk. It should have been familiar by now... he had trawled down that same corridor for the third time in so many minutes. But the first time he wasn't alone... and the second time his mind was only on the safety of his men. Now though... now he was quite aware of just how wrong the place felt. Everything was off. Starting with the dank smell of rotten wood, damp walls and whatever waste was littering the floors and yes, the walls. It didn't help that the corridor had rooms from both sides and no windows. Lawson would have given anything for even a small source of the moonlight. Surely that would have made this hellhole seem at least a bit less... haunted.

The sounds weren't helping all that much. Or the lack of them. The sound of the boy or rather the tape that lured them inside had vanished the further he went, until it wasn't heard at all. Lawson thought he would be thankful for that, but the opposite was true. Without that sound or the company of his men, Lawson was enveloped by utter silence. The only sound was the echo of his own steps and the regular clank of his cane, combined with the too loud breathing. Was he always that loud? Or was it just his imagination?

There was a strange thumping inside his temples that sounded a bit too loud. Lawson gritted his teeth and shook his head.

'Stop this, you old fool!' he urged himself and remembered the night he and Lucien spent at the local cemetery, hidden in one of the tombs. They were scared out of their minds at first, all the crackling of the wood, the sounds of leaves moving in the wind, the animals. But after a while they got used to it and even managed to fall asleep, until they were woken by a real threat... the cemetery guard doing the rounds. He must've noticed their bikes by the fence or it was just stupid luck, but Lawson still remembered the mind numbing terror when a flash of light woke him up inside a tomb, followed by a shout of disbelief.

That memory brought back an important lesson though. It wasn't the dead or the ghosts he should be vary off... rather the living. And there was someone there who meant harm.

That thought helped him shake off the fear and the goose bumps.

There was a real, human threat. That was something Lawson knew how to deal with. He was not about to let himself get scared by things that didn't exist, by his own imagination. He was too old for that.

He just needed to stay alert and think.

Think about what the hell was going on.

If this had been a personal attack on his person, or one of his men... it was a poorly executed one. None of them was dead, and albeit Bill was injured, that was hardly something that the culprit might've counted on. After all... the staircase surely wasn't rigged to crash. Or was it? And if so, how did the person know they would pick that one?

Lawson felt another twitch in his stomach. What if the second staircase was rigged too? What if this was some kind of a sick game to satisfy someone's perverted dreams?

Trap a couple of cops in a haunted asylum...

Lawson shook his head. Not haunted. Just abandoned, he reminded himself strongly. Now the question was, why would anyone do it? Surely, they must know that if at least one of them won't report back to the station, the officer on duty would become suspicious and alert someone else...

Lawson frowned.

Who would Peter alert in this case? If both himself and Hobart were on the scene...

Well, he would surely call in someone off duty and send them out to the location. Or perhaps he would send out John Kelly, who was guarding the prisoners.

That would leave the station manned only by one person however... and Lawson could still see what that led to several months ago. He could still see poor Ned's body strewn on the floor between their desks, the blood pooled around his head. He could still hear Charlie's broken voice in the phone call he received that night.

Suddenly, he was hoping this was just a prank. That this was someone with a grudge against him or hell Hobart, hoping to get their fun by leaving them stranded at the asylum for the night. Maybe even making a point about it.

He really hoped in that, because the other option just made his stomach twist painfully. Did he misinterpret Peter's call?

He used the code for policeman in distress and requiring assistance. It was true that their system of codes still had much to be desired for. It seemed insufficient, most of the active codes too specific and the rest not specific enough. In complicated cases, they had to rely on the tone of urgency or additional information.

Peter said police in distress.

Could it mean _he_ was the one in trouble?

"Bloody hell!" Lawson cursed out loud, startling even himself by the sudden noise echoing through the space. He made it back to the main hall and had to pause for a minute. His leg was throbbing and the weight of the rope wasn't helping the matter. He leaned against the reception desk to catch his breath momentarily. He waved around the torch, praying that the thing wouldn't give up on him. He looked around the hall. Nothing seemed to have changed. All was motionless... silent. It still sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine.

He forced back the urge to peek outside. He would have preferred to be walking the perimeter of the building instead, hidden in the darkness, using just the light of the moon and stars shining down. At least then he could hear the sound of crickets, feel the fresh air on his face. He would have preferred it to this.

But there was no saying if he could manage to get inside the building from anywhere else, and Charlie and Bill needed him. So he pushed back the discomfort and disquiet and headed for the east wing. The door was made from glass just like the one to the west wing. But that was hardly reassuring. The corridor took a left turn a bit earlier than Lawson expected. Once he passed the bend though, he found out why.

The east wing had been built a bit differently. While on the west wing the corridor was flanked by rooms on both sides, in the east wing it was just on the right side. The left... well. Lawson had gotten his wish.

The whole left side of the wing was made of a row of windows, facing the inner garden. Lawson could see perhaps eight or ten doors on the right... and in between the doors, there were benches. Benches and... statues.

Lawson wanted to close his eyes and count to ten, hoping that he would wake up. He didn't dare. He didn't dare to look away... he didn't dare to even blink.

Statues. Goddamn statues of all things... grey stone, covered in dust and cobwebs, but still with discernable human features. Lawson wished he could just turn around and walk home. He would gladly walk the twenty or so kilometres if it meant he would be as far from this damn place as possible.

Unfortunately, Charlie and Bill didn't have that choice. He didn't even want to imagine what this place looked like underground... but he knew if it was this creepy here, where he still had a choice of escape, it must've been hundred times worse below.

With that on mind, Lawson grit his teeth and took a step forward, towards things that haunted his nightmares since childhood.


	5. Chapter 5

Danny had just wanted a simple weekend off, visiting with whom he thought of as family. He wanted to catch up with Jean about life, get a chance to piss off Lawson with a glib comment or two and see that familiar frown. Hell, sometimes he missed it even back in Melbourne. His commanding officer was an okay guy, but he never got really... passionate about stuff. While Danny was happy not to be on the receiving end of an angry rant, ever so often he just missed Lawson's dedication to the job.

If he really thought about it, he also missed the occasional craziness that living in Ballarat and under the Doc's roof brought. His life in Melbourne seemed almost boring compared to it, although he did have his ways of livening it up, Danny thought with a small quirk of his lips.

When Blake asked if he missed this... Danny said no. He didn't miss being worried about people he cared for. But he would be a liar if he didn't admit that yes... the adrenaline surge as he drove towards the station, blood pumping in anticipation of action, wasn't a startlingly welcome feeling.

He parked the car just a street down from the station. They could see the front entrance of the building, although there didn't seem to be any movement.

"It looks normal," Danny commented, sounding almost disappointed as he peeked ahead, squinting. It was dark outside but the street lights in front of the station worked fine.

"Maybe. I'd rather this was just a prank than anything serious," Blake muttered and started looking around. "Where did you tell the others to meet us?"

"Here," Danny said and grinned as there was a knock on the window. Blake startled a bit, not expecting it.

"Bloody-" he sighed. "Stop snickering, Danny," he growled.

"Sure... old man," Danny added with a smirk, though he kept it under his breath. After all, he still remembered one of the wild theories circling in Melbourne that perhaps it was Blake who was behind the large number of murders in Ballarat. Of course Danny had laughed it off the first time he heard, but then it became a fun little game. Especially if whomever was spreading the rumours was met with a smirking Danny, who never forgot to mention where he came from and under whose roof he lived for over a year. He could appreciate the wary looks afterwards or the occasional invite for a drink, if the perpetrator was more curious than scared.

"Parks... Blake?" the man that knocked on the window was now leaning inside the car, giving them both a look, as if assessing whether they were drunk or not. Danny would have rolled his eyes but knew that if he had gotten the phone call, he might've just reacted the same.

"Sergeant Lewis," Blake said, clearly not appreciative of the doubtful look or the scare he got.

"Heya Lewie... how's life treating you, mate?" Danny couldn't help it. He just had to try and piss the man off. The sergeant was just a few years older than Danny himself, but he was one of those... uptight types. He wasn't someone Danny wanted to associate with or rather... not someone he would go out to grab a beer with. But he was fairly decent at his job and also one of the few that could be counted on to pick up the damn phone and get his ass back to work on a moment's notice.

Lewis of course totally ignored Danny's comment, his frown only deepening.

"Have you seen anything strange, sergeant Lewis?" Blake asked, getting out of the car and rather softly closing the door.

Lewis shook his head.

"I've arrived only few minutes ago. No movement as far as I can tell. Are you sure there is actually a problem there?"

"I've already told you on the phone what happened," Danny said annoyed as he joined them leaning against the car, eyes turned towards the building at the far end of the street.

"And it sounded so believable too," Lewis rolled his eyes.

"Well, you are here, aren't you?" he said challengingly.

"I just wanted to make sure you wasn't drunk off your ass and trying to pull some stunt, Parks. After all, you are quite far from your jurisdiction, aren't you?"

Danny bristled at that but before he could get into Lewis' face and tell him what he could do with his attitude, Blake stepped in.

"Gentlemen... we are here for a reason. And as you can see, sergeant Lewis... none of us is drunk. So... perhaps we should try to figure out what the bloody hell is going on?" Blake spoke, standing between Danny and Lewis. The two men exchanged a glare and a huff, but they both stepped back.

"I'm listening then. Why did you call me after my shift?"

Danny opened his mouth, most likely to answer something unflattering like: 'Well, I doubted you had anything better to do.' But Blake shot him a glare and he deflated.

"We might want to wait for the others. I'd rather not lose time repeating this to everyone separately."

Lewis begrudgingly nodded and they looked around.

"Who did you call?" he asked, rather neutrally after a second.

"Cunningham and Jamieson. They were the only ones available at the moment."

Lewis grimaced but Danny thought it might've been more about the small number of coppers coming rather than whom. He was pretty sure Lewis was on good terms with both of those guys at least.

"No one else?"

Danny grimaced.

"Well, it isn't like I have everyone's number. I've been out of town for a few years now," he reminded Lewis.

"And what a relief that was," the man had dared to smile about that. Danny just rolled his eyes while Blake let out an audible sigh.

They waited for the other two cops to arrive. Fortunately, it didn't take more than a few minutes. Once they were all present, Blake had repeated the content of the phone call and all the things that simply didn't add up. The result was three frowning faces.

"I'm pretty sure Peter haven't had a girlfriend for the last two months at least," Cunningham noted.

"And _everyone_ knows Lawson is sticking around at Blake's place," Jamieson added.

"What are the chances Petey hit the bottle?" Lewis asked but all he got in reply was a glare.

"Do you care explaining where is Lawson, Davis and Hobart then?" Danny still asked. Lewis raised his hands.

" Hey. I was just going over the possibilities."

Blake shook his head.

"This isn't the time for bickering," he reminded them. "Judging by the unexplained absence of several people and the call, we can assume there is indeed a problem at the station. Now we need to solve it."

"So what are you proposing? One of us stopping by to check out the situation?" Lewis asked with some sarcasm.

Blake grimaced and Danny felt like sending Lewis back home. He didn't remember the man being _that much_ of an ass, but it seemed the years didn't help with the attitude.

"I wouldn't exactly advise that," Blake noted, thinking. "I think we should first try and see what's the situation."

"I agree. Let's try and take a look inside. We should be able to take a peek through the windows, without being seen. And check the parking lot at the back entrance, see if the Boss had really left the station or not."

"Good idea, Danny," Blake agreed and surprisingly there was no arguing. Even Lewis seemed okay with the proposition. Until Danny suggested it would be him and Cunningham doing the check.

"Like you even have any jurisdiction here," Lewis snorted, shaking his head. "I'm coming along. Blake and Jamieson can keep an eye on the front."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," he muttered, shooting an exasperated look at Blake. The Doc just gave him an understanding smile and nodded, indicating they better move.

At least Lewis knew when to shut up, Danny thought. As soon as they got closer to the station, Lewis fell in alongside him, silent and focused. Danny looked at Cunningham, and the man had his eyes wide open, feet as silent as possible on the tarmac. Danny just now noticed Cunningham's right hand laying on his knife holster. The man was an avid bushman, spending most of his free time out in the wilderness. At least he was armed. That was more than could be said about Lewis or Danny himself.

As they had circled the building, one thing became clear right away. Two cars were missing. Lewis just confirmed it with a nod and two raised fingers. Danny felt at least partial relief. Perhaps this was indeed some mistake and Lawson and Charlie were already home, relaxing on the couch and joking with Jean and Rose about the false alarm. Gosh, Danny really hoped so.

His relief was short lived however. As Lewis circled the parking lot, Cunningham had walked up to the back entrance, hand poised on the doorknob. Danny shook his head. Not yet.

Cunningham grimaced, but settled for standing by the door, listening. There were sounds coming from inside. Voices. Moaning.

Danny gritted his teeth, moving towards one of the lit windows. It was at a height above his head so he couldn't really peek inside. Until Lewis joined him. Using some hand gestures, Danny made his wishes clear and albeit not happily, Lewis joined his hands and moved into position, nodding at Danny that he was ready.

Danny put his right leg into the improptu step created by the locked hands and grabbing at the windowsill as silently as he could, he pulled himself up. He was careful to stay by the wall and only risked a quick look by the corner of the window.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

He had to bite down on his tongue to stop the curse on his lips. The hands helping him up shook just a bit and there was movement not that far from the window. He quickly stepped down, pushing flush to the wall. Lewis followed, and for a moment none of them dared to move or breathe. Lewis gave him a questioning look but Danny shook his head. He waited.

Nothing happened.

Once he was sure they weren't spotted, he nodded for Lewis to move. They joined Cunningham still standing by the entrance, keeping watch.

"Well?" Lewis asked, voice low.

"Trouble," Danny whispered, looking at Cunningham. "You heard anything?"

"Someone was moaning, as if hurt. There is lots of movement inside," Cunningham noted and Danny gave an unhappy nod.

"Let's go back."

Lewis looked like he wanted to protest, but he wasn't stupid. If there were hostile people at the station, they couldn't just barge in without a plan.

When they returned to Blake and Jamieson, the two were leaning against the corner of the street, trying to blend in with the shadows. The damn street lights were keeping the sidewalk and the road fairly well lit, which Danny thought might be to their advantage as well as disadvantage.

"Any news?" Danny was the first to ask Blake, as the man seemed to be frowning at something down the road. Blake nodded, peeking from around the corner.

"There's a van parked few meters from the station. We didn't notice it at first, but... it has no plates."

Danny's eyebrows went up.

"Escape car?"

Blake pursed his lips.

"Escape? I take it you found something?"

"Two of our cars are gone," Lewis jumped in. "I'd say Lawson and Davis took one... and perhaps Hobart took the other out on a call. That's the best case scenario."

"Right. The worst case would be if whomever came in that van decided to leave in a police car and go for a jolly ride with a few hostages," Blake muttered under his breath.

"I don't think we have to worry about that yet," Danny jumped in.

"Why's that?"

"What did you see, Parks?" Lewis asked gruffly. He obviously wasn't happy to be kept in the dark, even if it was just a few minutes. Danny ignored the urge to shut up just to spite Lewis. This wasn't about him, but about his friends. And they seemed to be in trouble.

"I saw Peter. He was sitting behind the desk."

"That's not that bad so far..." Jamieson said, but Danny shook his head.

"He was tied up, blood running down his head. There was a masked guy, going over the cabinets, throwing the files all over the floor. I'm pretty sure he had a gun."

The whole group groaned and cursed in unison.

Danny couldn't but agree with the sentiment.

"One man?" Blake asked with some hope, but Danny shrugged, nodding at Cunningham to speak.

"I heard at least one more in the hall, from the back entrance. And some moaning. I'm pretty sure that wasn't Peter."

Blake grimaced.

"How many people could be inside as possible hostages?"

"Three prisoners. Peter. Kelly and Hobart. Possibly Lawson and Davis. Depends on who took the two cars."

"And at the least two attackers," Danny added with a sigh.

The situation wasn't good. Hell, who was he kidding... the situation was bad. They didn't know how many attackers were inside, or what they wanted. They didn't even know whether Lawson was there. Danny was essentially on a holiday in a town outside his jurisdiction, while Blake was a police surgeon, but technically still a civilian. The highest ranking officer in their group was Lewis and they all knew it. Danny cursed and wished he would've just stayed in Melbourne. The curse of Ballarat seemed to catch up with him.

* * *

Peter wasn't sure what these men wanted. He counted three of them total, all masked. All dangerous. But two of them left and hearing a scuffle and some pained shouts, Peter feared the worst for Johnny. He tried to struggle in his bonds but then he felt the nozzle of the gun brushing against his temple in warning and he went still.

He might not have a wife to go home to, but hell, he did want to get out of this alive.

"Settle down," the man warned and as Peter begrudgingly did so, he let out a chuckle and gave him a not so friendly tap on the head. "Good boy," the man said, as if he was a damn dog. Peter felt like barring his teeth and sinking them into the hand, but it was pulled away and he knew he would have paid for that.

There wasn't much he could do. He kept wiggling his legs, trying to at least loosen up the bindings around his ankles. He could do nothing about the rope around his chest, but if he managed to loosen the legs, perhaps he could stand up and use the chair as a weapon in itself. The handcuffs on his arms were inescapable, not while put on top of the desk, all too visible. But they were in front of him, which was some advantage. If needed... he could still use his hands, even if his motion was limited.

He watched as the man started rummaging around. At first he was just looking at files, but it was clear his patience was running out. No wonder, Peter thought. It might've been a small station, but they had lots of files and cases. He wanted to offer his help, if only to find out what they were looking for, but thought better of it. If he knew, he would have to either tell them or be subjected to more punches, as he was sure the guy wouldn't take 'I don't freaking know' as a proper answer.

Some time had passed, with Peter just sitting and watching. The man grabbed a few files, reading through them, then quickly throwing them on the floor in the middle of the room. After several minutes, he didn't even bother with reading. He pulled out desk drawers, opened the filing cabinets. Every damn file they had in the room ended up on the floor, on an ever growing pile.

Peter cringed. So much work... if they got out of this, it would be so much damn work putting all those files back together. God, Lawson would be furious-

Peter's thoughts came to a halt. Lawson. Hobart and most likely Davis. They were out there, but... they weren't calling back. Not for backup, not to say the call was bogus. Nothing. Total radio silence.

Something was wrong and Peter feared the worst. Did he send his superior officer and colleagues to their deaths?

He shuddered.

He saw the man just show whole drawers from Lawson's desk into the middle of the pile angrily.

Well, if his boss wasn't dead... he would either get a heart attack seeing this, or... bury each and every one of the bastards that dared to mess up his office. Lawson was just like that.

Peter hoped the man was fine and on his way back to the station. Perhaps he and Blake were already planning a rescue. If not, well. Peter wasn't sure he wanted to know what lie ahead of him.

There was a sound of moaning and a string of curses coming from the hall. Both Peter and the man looked up, their eyes catching sight of a fuming guy, the third baddie leaning heavily against a cop.

Peter blinked.

That wasn't John Kelly.

But it was his uniform.

"What the hell?" he uttered under his breath. Fortunately the men ignored him.

"What happened?" his captor asked, equally taken aback as he headed towards his fallen comrade.

"The copper got him," the uninjured one growled. "His own stupid mistake."

Peter saw the blood running down the man's leg and thought 'Good!'. But then he fully realized that the uniform belonged to Johnny and he didn't see how they could've gotten it without a fight. And the man wearing it...

Peter's eyes widened.

It was their prisoner, the one Davis brought in. The one that was supposed to be transported to Sydney the next day...

He didn't look to be in distress. Well, not more than one would, when having to support another bleeding man. But no one was pointing a gun at him... and judging by his stance, he knew these men well.

So that's what they came for. Not files, not... whatever. They came to free a damn prisoner.

He closed his eyes. Couldn't these idiots have done so a day later? During transport perhaps? It would have saved him the headache for sure.

"What the hell is taking you so long?"

Peter's eyes snapped open. That was a new voice. He turned his head as much as his binds allowed and tried to catch sight of the fourth man. Where did he come from? Who was it?

He caught sight of a face. Peter blinked. No mask?

He averted his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring. His heart was beating rapidly. Why didn't the man have a mask? Wasn't he afraid of being identified?

Though he had stayed mostly out of sight, Peter still feared that meant only one thing for him.

As if hearing his thoughts, the guy who had tied him up stepped out into the corridor.

"We hit a bit of a snafu. There's too many files around, can't find the right one."

"So? What's the problem?" the fourth guy asked offhandedly.

"The problem is that you are still standing here like an idiot, instead of bringing in the cans!" came the gruff reply and Peter realized the guy that rumsacked the main office was the leader of the group.

There was a snort and some grumbling, but not much else. The injured man kept whimpering, while the prisoner – Eddie Korbyn, Peter remembered his name - was supporting him awkwardly.

"Anything else that needs to be done?"

"Yeah. Sit that idiot down, Eddie, and make sure he's quiet. I hate listening to wussies crying. Tee... go ahead to the evidence locker. Look around and grab anything you think we can get some money from. Then make sure it's soaked properly," the man said and Peter could feel the smirk in his voice.

Cans? Soaked through? Just what the hell were they planning to do?

Peter's eyes landed on the pile of files in the middle of the room... was that a pile... or a pyre?

He swallowed, mouth dry. His feet resumed their wiggling. If what he thought was right... he didn't want to stay around and wait for it.

* * *

The hallway seemed to be endless, albeit Charlie logically knew it couldn't have been all that long. After all, they passed half the building in the upper level relatively quickly.

It was different... walking in full health, with plenty of light and backup. It had been scary and creepy anyway, but at least he knew they could protect themselves if need be or run.

Having Bill's weight on his shoulders, along with the incessant throbbing in his side and head made for a much slower walk. Or hobble, as it was. Not to mention that all they had was one torch that both of them kept praying and cursing at whenever it dared to blink or dim even for a second... scared they would be left in total darkness. Charlie wasn't sure how he would be able to handle _that_ particular event.

Fortunately, so far the torch kept shining... even though the things it revealed weren't thrilling. After the room with the dilapidated baths that were supposedly 'therapeutic', Charlie decided to ignore most of the rooms they passed... as much as he was capable of. His other senses were trying to make up for the lack of visual input instead. Charlie felt the skin at the back of his head and neck crawl after they managed to pass through a rather large spider web. Neither men would admit the startled grunts and the little dance they made had ever happened as they tried to make sure there were no spiders on top of them. It took Bill's pained yelp as he accidentally put weight on his leg for them to stop and just breathe. They glanced at each other, Bill hissing through the pain and shooting daggers at Charlie as if it was all his fault. Charlie for his part was also trying to catch his breath as a stab of pain ran through his chest. It was over fast and he let the grimace touch his face only for a second.

"Stop... dillydallying," Bill growled testily.

Charlie glared at him. It was hardly his fault Bill was holding the torch in such a way it didn't reveal the cobweb.

"Sorry for being too slow dragging your heavy ass around," he muttered, a bit fed up himself.

Bill looked like he wanted to flip him off and took a step forward in an attempt to continue by himself. But his pride couldn't surpass the fact his leg was useless and too painful to walk on at this moment. He gritted his teeth and turned back to Charlie.

"Lawson is alone up there," he reminded Charlie coldly and that had cut off any more arguments or comments. Charlie nodded, understanding. Without a word he reached out and put Bill's arm back over his own shoulder. They continued walking.

The air felt musty and too hot. Charlie felt tired from the effort of lugging Bill, his lungs pleading for more oxygen, but his ribs shot out a protest every time he tried for a deeper breath. Sweat was running down his face and back and it stung the small cuts he received in the fall. Still, he trudged on, eyes set forward into the single ray of light that kept wavering from Bill's torch. Ears perked, trying to hear past their own raspy breathing, fervently hoping they wouldn't catch the sound of another set of footsteps. Both Charlie and Bill jerked occasionally when there was a crack under their feet, or what sounded like a sound of dripping water. A strange wailing and clanking sound of the pipes that led above their heads. They always stopped to listen, breaths bated until they could identify the source of the sound or deem it as not a threat.

Then they continued.

Until the light of the torch caught a strangely shaped shadow in front of them.

Charlie gave an undignified yelp, while the torch wavered, almost falling out of Bill's hand. They both froze. Bill hesitantly turned the torch back towards the shadow and Charlie let out a relieved chuckle.

"Chair. It's just a chair!" he said, feeling almost giddy at the revelation. Bill let out a snort.

"Course. Don't know why you screamed like a girl," he said, as if Charlie couldn't feel how his muscles tensed in the first moment.

Charlie decided to ignore the quip and strained his eyes to see better. Was it a chair? Or... wait.

"It's a wheelchair!" he exclaimed and in his elation quickened his steps. Bill hissed, digging his fingers into Charlie's shoulder in warning. Charlie slowed down but not even the pain could dampen his mood. He was already seeing himself free of Bill's weight, happily pushing the chair through the rest of the building.

His eyes were only on the wheels. They looked a bit rickety, but they were attached. Charlie just needed to free both his hands for a moment to check...

"No."

Bill's fingers dug like claws into his shoulder as he was about to lean him against the wall.

Charlie frowned.

"Just a moment. I'll check the wheels, then you can sit down and-"

"I said no! I'm not sitting down in... that!"

Charlie blinked.

"Are you serious?"

Now was hardly the time to play the macho man. He understood that Bill had his pride and always tried to present himself as 'the man', but hell. Charlie was tired. He hurt, he was afraid and he was worried... for all their safety. And Bill decided now of all times he would kick up a fuss. That was just wonderful.

"You can... ride that _thing_ if you want. I'll crawl if I have to, but I'm not using _that!_ " Bill practically spat.

"What the hell is your problem?" Charlie asked, his own temper boiling over.

Bill's jaw clenched.

"I'm not a damn cripple. I can walk."

Charlie couldn't help the snort that escaped him.

"Really! Why don't you do that then? And it's nice to know how much respect you had towards Lawson after his leg got messed up."

"That was hardly my fault, Davis. Wasn't it you who didn't look both ways?"

The two glared at each other for a good minute, both seething at the words.

Something clanked in the pipes.

Charlie blinked, realizing he was glaring at a dark shadow that most likely couldn't see the anger in his eyes anyway. The torch was still aimed at the bloody wheelchair.

Charlie shot it a wistful look, then shuddered.

He had just noticed the strange and rather disgusting looking stain covering most of the seat.

"Fine. Let's move," he acquiesced finally. Arguing was just a loss of time after all. Charlie wasn't sure he would willingly seat himself in the chair either now. It looked like it had... history. Bad history, if the half disintegrated restraint hanging from the right armrest was anything to go by.

Charlie offered his shoulder to Bill, who despite his own words didn't really make an attempt to go ahead by his own powers. Even he must've realized the bluff was up.

They resumed their hobbling walk, both trying to keep their grunts of pain to themselves, for whatever illusion of pride they had. For several minutes they didn't utter a word as they tried to navigate the continuously worsening state of the floor. It looked like someone had just came down there with a cricket bat and decided to smash everything to pieces... pulling long sheets of old paint off the walls, smashing every light bulb, leaving bared cables and contacts. Even the pipes above their heads seemed to be bent in places.

Charlie wanted to be out of this place. He didn't imagine it could've felt very welcoming even in pristine condition, right now though it all felt like they were trapped in hell. Charlie wished to be back outside. Even if he had to walk the whole way to the station on his feet in the darkness, he would prefer it to this.

He could see they were nearing a corner and his heart jumped a beat. That meant they were almost halfway done. Charlie wasn't sure he wanted to see what the other half of this floor looked like, but there was no choice. They had to keep going.

Before the corner though, there was one more room.

Charlie tried hard not to look that way, but Bill was shining the torch so it could reveal what lie at the corner. They were now both looking for any shadows and movement. The light caught the plate with the room number and designation.

Room 108 - ECT.

"ECT?" Charlie asked out loud, a bit confused.

Bill froze in spot, causing both of them to come to a sudden halt.

"What?" he asked and Charlie was dismayed to note his voice sounded shaky.

"What is ECT?" Charlie repeated the question, pointing his free hand at the plaque. Bill turned the torch back to that, then slowly shone it at the room.

It was empty.

Well... mostly, Charlie amended.

There was a heavy looking gurney in the middle of the room. It was bolted to the concrete floor, a mouldy, stained mattress lying on top of it. Charlie thought it looked like rubber. There was also an empty, dusty cart lying haphazardly behind it, one wheel missing.

Charlie thought the room looked remarkably normal, compared to all the others they had seen.

But Bill didn't seem to think so. Charlie could feel the shivers running through the man's body, now leaning even more heavily against his. He grunted a bit, adjusting his grip and stance so they both didn't fall over.

"Bill? What-" Charlie started but Bill finally spoke.

"Electroshock therapy. ECT. It's electroshocks," he stated, dully. His eyes, and subsequently the light of the torch, were trailed on the gurney. The restraints that Charlie was becoming expectant to see. He wanted to ask what was wrong, if Bill felt sick, if he had hit his head. This wasn't normal behaviour for the man.

But all Charlie could think of was...

"How do you know?"

Because the plaque only read ECT. And there didn't seem to be any machines around.

Bill didn't reply. He just stared ahead, as if hypnotized.

"Hobart!" Charlie hissed after a moment, nudging the man bodily.

Bill blinked, shook his head. Then as swiftly as possible, turned to move away.

Charlie caught sight of something wet trickling down the man's face, but didn't have time to ponder as he had to follow the movement and offer his support or Bill would have fallen.

"I just know, Davis," Bill muttered. "Drop it."

Charlie frowned, then shook his head. He was quite fed up with Bill's strange behaviour.

"I was just wondering when did you have time to read up on asylums," Charlie commented a bit snappishly. It was one thing to be always 'schooled' by the Doc or hell, even Lawson. It was different coming from Bill of all people.

Charlie didn't really mean much by the comment, he was just letting out steam. But Bill tensed and pulled away.

"Maybe when my mother was institutionalized in one of them," Bill replied all of a sudden, his voice so cold it could've frozen water.

Charlie stood, gobsmacked. Of all the things, he didn't expect to hear that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has a mention of suicide of an OC character. You can skip the first scene if you want to skip that.

It was the stress and the pain. Bill would definitely blame the pain for the slip, and maybe the fact Davis' presence was irritating the hell out of him.

He didn't mean to say it out loud. Hell... he had never ever spoken about his mother and now he just blurted it out like some drunken idiot looking for sympathy...

He could see Davis regarding him with curiosity and yes... sympathy. Of course. The dumb kid had a bleeding heart and Bill just gave him something to ponder.

It angered him, but he couldn't take the words back and in some way, they felt good. As if a little bit of weight was lifted off his shoulders. A long festering wound opened...

Bill cursed.

"If you say one word Davis... I'll deck you," he growled as he determinedly turned his eyes away from the damn room.

He knew Davis wanted to say something. Either to apologize or keep asking questions, but Bill couldn't deal with that. Not now... not ever.

He was so adamant about getting the hell out of this place that he forgot about his broken leg. He let it touch the ground with more force than necessary. Next thing he knew he was leaning heavily against the wall, the stupid torch rolling on the floor, blinking. Davis was next to him, looking oddly panicked.

"Bill? You back with me?"

Bill groaned and realized he was gasping for breath too. Did he scream? Did he black out?

The pain was excruciating, even now that his leg was no longer touching the floor. He was glad for the darkness as he was sure there were tears streaming down his face.

"Y-yeah. Just... stumbled," Bill let out once he got his voice back under control.

Davis didn't call him out on his lie and Bill was thankful for that at least.

He kind of wished he would have grabbed the offer of the bloody wheelchair, weird spots and pride be damned. They weren't so far away yet, maybe he could send Davis back to retrieve it...

He pushed back the thought as soon as it appeared, cursing himself a weak fool. He could hear his father's voice, screaming at him from the living room to shut up and stop crying like a sissy, or he will end up like one. And Bill knew what happened to sissies. The same thing that happened to hysterical women who dared attacking their husbands for cheating.

They ended up sent into mental hospitals. Locked up, drugged... tortured.

Then, if they were lucky enough, they would be sent home, broken but... fixed. If they were less lucky... they ended up as a victim of some hot-headed doctor, who thought jabbing long needles into eye sockets would cure all.

Bill shut his eyes tight, hands clenched into fists.

His mother survived the therapy, the electroshocks. She was smart enough to realize that if she ever wanted to see her son or leave the insane asylum, she had to play a role.

It took her two years.

Two years, during which Bill was left to the tender mercies of his drunken ass of a father at the age of nine. When she finally returned home, she was the most considerate wife. Making dinner. Cleaning the house. Never uttering a word against her husband.

Never again smiling again.

Bill couldn't stand that. What came back was a husk, not his loving mother. No... what came back was a ghost.

His father couldn't stand it either. He drank more. He screamed more and there were moments Bill wished his mother would be back in the asylum, because in his 11 year old mind, she must've been safer there than at home.

He realized that wasn't true during one fateful dinner. They were sitting around the table, silent, his mother moving robotically, putting plates with food down. One slipped out of her hands, breaking on the floor with a loud crack, the mashed potatoes splashing on his father's trousers.

Screaming ensued and Bill just looked down at his own plate, trying to tune it all out. He wanted to get down to his knees and help his mother clean up the mess, he wanted to shout at his father to shut the fuck up, he wanted to stab the fork into the man's throat just to make him silent.

He didn't do any of that. At twelve, Bill knew any of those actions would have dreadful consequences for him. Helping his mother would label him a weak sissy, for doing a woman's job and threatened to be sent to the same place his mother escaped. Any step against his father would end up in getting the belt.

He wished he would have done something though.

When his mother ignored all the curses and jeering, his father lost his temper. He didn't hit her. Didn't have to.

"Perhaps I should just send you back there. I heard they are still looking for some subjects to lobotomize," he said with a sick laugh.

Bill couldn't help it, he looked at his mother. He didn't understand what the word meant and she always knew everything, explained everything.

The deep fear in her eyes shook him.

His father's laughter deepened and twisted in Bill's memory, overcoming the sound of his mother's voice, begging him to let her stay.

Bill didn't remember much of what happened afterwards. The following days and weeks were a blur.

He wasn't sure if it was the next morning or if it was months later when his mother simply hadn't woken up. What he remembered was finding her still in the bed, relaxed. The smallest smile touching her unnaturally blue lips, while there was an empty pill bottle clutched in her cold hand.

She looked... at peace.

Bill hasn't seen her like that for several years now.

Still, he didn't understand. Couldn't. She decided to die and leave him behind. Why?

" _Because she was weak, son,"_ his father told him when he asked, sobbing, watching as the casket was lowered into the ground. For once his father tolerated the tears, but Bill knew this was the last time, the only time. _"You better remember, Bill. This is what happens to weak people_."

And he did. Bill hated the man that called himself his father, but he never forgot that weakness equalled death. Being weak meant anything from letting kids bully him, or even just letting a sheepish, studious schoolmate pass him by on the street without knocking into him so hard he stumbled. Anything that made his father snort or laugh, even though the sound sent sparks of hate through Bill, meant that he wasn't thought of as weak. It meant he was 'worthy' enough of his father's name to be given a roof over his head, food and clothes. Strong enough not to be sent to a place he knew scared his mother more than anything.

It took five more years for his father to pass away. He drank himself to death. This time, as Bill stood at the cemetery watching the casket go down, he didn't shed a tear. He had to be strong after all.

Bill took in a deep breath.

It was the past.

He was older now. Smarter. Still, his father's lessons ran deep. Too deep at times, but Bill couldn't change that now. The years spent at the police academy then walking the beat just reinforced the fact that weak people ended up dead. And there was no one in his life to prove him wrong.

"Can you walk? Or should I bring the chair?" a voice asked, as if from the distance. Bill blinked.

He was back in the musty corridor, leaning against the wall precariously. Davis had already picked up the torch that was thankfully still working.

"Only if you want to sit in it," Bill grunted at the offer of the chair. Without another word he grabbed Charlie's shoulder, pushing himself off the wall. Davis hissed as his arm curled around his ribs, but didn't comment. Bill almost felt bad for causing the man discomfort, but didn't apologize. Served him right, he thought. Asking stupid questions. Still... as they started moving again, Bill's eyes turned towards the cursed room one last time. The torch was pointing ahead so he couldn't really see anything, but he remembered the gurney and the restraints. He remembered the pained and scared look on his mother's face. With some reluctance, he moved his arm up, so it was resting on Davis' shoulder instead of his side. He pretended that he didn't hear the relieved sigh.

* * *

"So what do we do now?" Cunningham asked as they were all huddled by Blake's parked car. They were in a good enough spot to watch the front entrance of the station and admittedly, keep a partial eye on the van.

Blake was pretty sure the van was empty, at least when he had approached it a few minutes earlier, he didn't catch any movement from the driver's seat. Though truth was he didn't dare to get too close. As soon as he was sure the plates were missing... he beat a hasty retreat.

"We need to call Melbourne and request assistance," Lewis said as if it was the most logical thing.

Blake cringed.

He wasn't a fan of the tone but more than that... he wasn't sure it was the best idea.

"While I'm all for requesting assistance, I doubt my boss from Melbourne would be of much help right now," Danny said with a tight look on his face and Blake knew there was something he wasn't saying.

"Why the hell not?" Lewis opposed, clearly set on trying to act as the one with the highest rank. Blake forced back a sigh. Last thing they needed right now was a pissing contest. He was about to jump in between the two, but it was Cunningham who stepped in.

"Maybe because they are hella far? And I doubt we have enough time anyway. Based on what I heard... the guys inside are antsy and pissed."

Danny nodded.

"Yeah. They were definitely losing patience. Not to mention, if Lawson and Davis are missing, these guys must've arrived around the time they were supposed to leave. That means they are inside for well over an hour now. How long do you think they will hang around?"

Lewis frowned.

"Well, what are _you_ proposing? We need to inform the upper heads and await orders. We can't just... barge in."

Blake and Danny exchanged a glance.

Blake knew one thing. He wasn't much of a fan of waiting for orders. He might've spent quite some time in the army, but even there he struggled with the chain of command. He was pretty sure the only thing saving him from several court martials were his skills and the fact there was a war going on.

"We need to do something," he said, barely registering the fact he spoke out loud. His mind was already working on a plan. It was a bit daring and plenty risky, but... it was doable.

"I'm not doing anything without calling it in first," Lewis argued, sounding like a broken record. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Great. Then why don't you call Bendigo? They might actually be able to send in few cars before it all goes to hell!"

Lewis looked like he actually liked the idea but Blake could see Cunningham and Jamieson exchanging a glance with Danny. Neither of them wanted to wait around. Not to mention... they all knew how precarious Lawson's position was. Blake worried that involving anyone from the outside might just be the nail in Matthew's coffin. Of course, if it was a question of saving someone's life... Blake sighed.

"Calling Bendigo sounds good," he said finally. "But I don't think we have time to wait for them," he added tonelessly. His whole body tensed and he raised his hands in a gesture that clearly said 'step back'.

Lewis looked like he was offended by the gesture, until he followed Blake's gaze, along with the others.

Blake had been standing facing the station, so he was indeed the first one to notice the door opening.

The others caught on quickly, falling silent and hiding in the shadows, watching.

A solitary figure stepped out, looking around carefully.

It was clear it wasn't a cop. Just as clear that the man had a cig in one hand and a gun in the other.

Blake watched as the man quickly walked up to the van, opening the back of it. Blake and Danny shared a look, wondering if they should perhaps use this moment and act. Blake shook his head.

They were too far away and their approach would have been noticed well in advance. Not to mention, there were still several hostages at the station that could've been hurt.

No, the only thing right now was to observe and hope that they had a bit more time to act.

The man was pulling something out of the van and Blake had to squint to try and figure out what it was. When he realised though, his eyes went wide.

Petrol cans.

Two large ones. The man had thrown away the cigarette, put the gun behind his waist then took both cans and headed back towards the station. Blake waited until the door slammed shut, then turned to the others.

"Petrol cans!" he let out through clenched teeth, shaking with anger.

"What... do they want to set the station on fire?" Lewis asked, bewildered.

"I don't know... but we are not waiting around to find out," Danny uttered and moved as if to run towards the door. Blake grabbed him by the arm, stopping him.

"No. We need to plan this, or someone will get killed," he said and it was clear Danny wanted to protest at first. Blake raised a brow, not letting go of Danny's arm. Danny blinked, but then gave a nod.

"What's on your mind, Doc?" he asked and Blake let a smile touch his lips.

"Split up. Two of us go from the back, three from the front entrance. We need to make sure all exits are covered."

Cunningham, Jamieson and Danny nodded. Lewis looked as if he was sucking on a lemon, ready to jump in with a protest. So far though he kept silent. Blake could appreciate that at least.

"We will need a distraction... but I can provide that. First though... I think we should take care of their escape car."

Danny's eyebrows rose, but it was Cunningham who was the first to react. He pulled out a knife and with a grin said: "Leave that to me."

Before anyone could say a thing, Cunningham moved through the shadows, towards the van. Blake tried to keep an eye on both the man and the front door, hoping the attackers wouldn't chose that moment to come out. They all waited with bated breath, watching as Cunningham slashed both tires from the passenger side. He didn't dare to do the same for the driver's side as that would've been visible right away upon the exit from the building. If anything, letting the bad guys hop into the van and drive off several meters before noticing they had a problem seemed like a good idea.

Done with the job, they saw Cunningham peek inside the van the best he could, before returning to them.

"Did you see anything?" Danny asked before Cunningham even put the knife back into its sheath.

"Some spare clothes and a few more cans in the back, but not much else," Cunningham said with a shrug. "No plates on the front either."

They were eyeing the front door nervously.

"Alright, we need to decide right now. All in agreement with my plan?" Blake asked. Everyone nodded, except of course Lewis. He was frowning.

"Wait just a second. If I'm correct, Parks, you have no jurisdiction here and Blake, no offense, but you aren't a cop. I can't in good conscience let you go against some armed bunch of attackers!"

"Of course not," Blake agreed calmly, taking some of the wind out of Lewis' sail. "I asked if everyone agreed. Under these circumstances, you have the highest rank, Sergeant Lewis. So... what is your course of action?"

Four pairs of eyes locked on Lewis, who suddenly seemed too nervous.

"I... uh... we need to call reinforcement and then-"

Danny rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell, Lewis. If you want to call someone, then go and do it! But make sure they will also bring some body bags, because by the time _anyone_ arrives, there will be most likely bodies lying around."

"Come on, you can't just-"

"It's your call, Lewis. You are the senior officer. Are we going in or not?" This time it was Cunningham who was obviously losing patience.

Lewis hesitated.

Blake counted to ten. Then twenty.

He knew he was being impatient. Perhaps they needed to think this through. Rushing in without a backup was truly stupid. But... his friends were missing, most likely in some kind of danger. They knew that Peter was in trouble and they saw the petrol cans. Blake had seen his fair share of fires and burn victims during the war. He sure as hell wasn't about to wait around to see the station go up in flames if he could help it.

He looked at Lewis, who was biting at his lip. At Cunningham and Jamieson, both of them gritting their teeth, stepping from one leg to the other, hands subconsciously clutching at their knives and weapons. At Danny who was strung tight as a coil, ready and thrumming with excitement.

Blake counted ten more seconds, then shook his head.

"You know the plan," he said and reached for his pistol, checking the chamber. Satisfied, he straightened his coat and simply headed out towards the front entrance.

"Doc!" Danny called out after him in a hiss, which was followed by another hiss of 'Blake!' coming from Lewis.

Blake paused, turning around for a moment.

"What? I'm a civilian. It's perfectly in my right to go visit a police station."

Without another argument, he resumed his walk, hoping that Danny and the others will follow suit.

* * *

Eddie was becoming more and more nervous. It was one thing to break him out of a police holding cell. It was something else to try and set the police station on fire. He tried to argue with Tee at first, but quickly realized it was a waste of time. A short exchange in the hallway let him know that this time it was Joe holding the reins. Damn, but Dave did indeed send his harshest guys to pull him out.

Either the man was worried that Eddie might talk, or...

"We're making a statement. After this place goes up in blaze, everyone will think twice about crossing the family. And Mike here..." Joe looked at the man writhing and moaning on the floor. He grimaced. "Well... Mike or someone else can take over that much easier."

Eddie understood where Joe was coming from or rather the argument from Dave's standpoint. For Dave, showing the local coppers and businessmen that they weren't afraid of taking drastic measures was the right way to go. It would scare them into submission.

Perhaps it might've been a sound plan somewhere else. A smaller town... way smaller. Where the coppers weren't so stubborn and strong headed. Hell, Eddie had the pleasure of meeting several of them during his arrest and interrogation. And while the cop who arrested him, Davis was his name, had a surprising amount of information and kept just the right pressure for Eddie to consider turning, it was the superintendent that made his skin crawl. The man hadn't touched him, hell, he barely spoke. But the look in his eyes...

Eddie knew such men. His dead father used to have the same look of determination in his eyes. The same look of 'this place is mine! You mess with it, you pay the price!'

Ballarat wasn't up for takes. It was under the protection of several headstrong men. And Eddie knew without an ounce of doubt that if they burn down the station, they better kill each and every one of those men working there. Because otherwise they will be hunted down like rabid dogs.

Of course, Dave didn't know that. And if Eddie told him, used the phone and asked him to rethink the plan, he would have been called a sissy and ignored. Perhaps rightly so, Eddie wasn't sure. The fact he had been caught so easily rattled his confidence.

"Come on, Joe. If you do this... they'll come after us. I swear the cops here are like rabid dogs," Eddie tried, for sake of trying.

Joe snorted, raising the gun in his hand.

"You know what we do with rabid dogs, right?" he asked with a smug smirk.

Eddie sighed.

There wasn't much else he could do. The front door opened and in came the guy whose name he didn't know. Though he had seen him a few times, driving Dave's car.

The man was now holding two large cans filled with petrol. He put them down in front of Tee.

"Ready to skip this joint?" he asked, looking more bored than anything.

Joe nodded.

"Tee, grab one and make sure our friends in the cells get nice and toasty," he said with a smirk and Eddie forced back a shudder as Joe turned to him.

"Eddie, you and Greg take Mike and wait for us in the van. Get the engine running... we will need to move quickly."

Greg the driver gave a nod, but he didn't seem inclined to give Eddie or Mike a helping hand. Eddie grunted and with a few choice words pulled Mike back on his feet. The man let out a yelp and suddenly Eddie had his hands full with an unconscious body.

"Bloody hell! Some help?" he snapped towards Greg, who shot him a rather disgruntled look.

"I'm paid to drive, not nursemaid."

"I'm sure you'll need some passengers to drive off with," Eddie bit back, glaring.

"Get your ass in gear and help him," Joe said, annoyed. "Last thing I want is to listen to your whining."

Greg grumbled something under his nose, but Eddie let out a sigh of relief as he felt some of Mike's weight being taken off of his shoulders. Tee had already headed down to the cells and Joe took the other can of petrol and was taking it into the main office.

Best to leave the place, before someone dropped a lit match, Eddie thought distractedly.

With Greg's help, they were able to move Mike quite easily. They were already by the front door, when there was a knock.

Eddie froze.

He shot a look towards Greg, his eyes silently asking if there was anyone else with them.

Greg shook his head and the grimace on his face was clear indication that this wasn't part of the plan.

Eddie wasn't sure what to do. Did he perhaps imagine it?

The knocking returned. Three sharp raps on the wood.

Greg let go of Mike and pulled out his gun, pointing it at the door. Eddie sagged a bit under the extra weight and moved to the side, back flush with the wall. He felt quite useless, being held down by dead weight. He would've let Mike drop to the floor without a care, but he worried the man would moan or wake up, making a sound.

Greg took a step to the side as well. He cocked the gun, finger lying on the trigger, ready to squeeze.

Somewhere at the other end of the hallway, there was a loud crash of a broken window.

Eddie's head turned on instinct and he saw Greg turn as well.

There was a sound of splintering wood as someone kicked down a door.

Eddie let Mike drop to the floor. The thud of the body hitting the concrete was drowned out by another sound.

A sharp kick and the front door flying inwards, barely missing Eddie's frame as it crashed against the wall.

Eddie let out a startled yelp... and looked into the nozzle of a pistol. That was the moment he realized how utterly screwed he was.


	7. Chapter 7

Perhaps it wasn't the smartest plan. Approaching the station without a proper sense of how the situation looked inside the building. But then, if the cans of petrol were anything to go by, the situation simply wasn't good. And waiting for Lewis to grow a pair and lead them to action might take just a bit too long.

Blake knew that once he was on the street, Lewis wouldn't dare to do much more than hiss after him and curse. He counted on the fact that Danny at least would adhere to his words. Once he was far enough to know Lewis wouldn't just try and lunge at him, dragging him back towards their hiding spot, Blake dared to look backwards.

He was relieved to see that Cunningham and Jamieson were catching up with him, though they were approaching the building from the side, keeping more to the shadows. Blake couldn't see Danny anywhere, but he caught sight of Lewis vanishing behind the corner, a clear sign that both he and Danny were headed to the back entrance of the station.

Splendid.

Now Blake just needed to figure out how not to get shot as soon as he reached the building.

For all the effort the bad guys seemed to put into whatever scheme they were playing, Blake thought it rather reckless of them not to keep a guard outside. They were either too stupid or too sure of themselves. Both options bore their own dangers.

Blake slowed down his approach to give everyone enough time to get into position. He had his own pistol in hand, unsure if it was a smart or stupid move. He wanted to play this calmly; after all, there were possible hostages inside. Perhaps he could try and simply talk, hopefully coming to some resolution.

Of course, Blake wasn't stupid. He knew he managed to make some folks trigger happy on the most mundane day. There was no telling how much patience a bunch of gangsters might have for him.

No, talking wouldn't help. They didn't have a whole squad waiting to attack... only a bunch of cops, armed mostly with knives. The only thing that worked for them right now was the moment of surprise.

Blake stood in front of the familiar door, pistol in hand, feeling strangely wired. Jamieson and Cunningham had taken up positions by the sides, one holding a small revolver, the other a large hunting knife. They were as prepared as one could get.

Blake took few more seconds to make sure Danny and Lewis had managed to get to the back door as well then did the most mundane thing he could think of. He knocked.

There was no reaction, or not one he could take note of. But he caught a warning look from Cunningham and he took a step to the side. If someone decided to start shooting first and asking questions later, it would be pertinent not to stand in the line of fire.

Cunningham gave a satisfied nod, but there was a questioning look.

'What now?'

Blake shrugged and gave the door three more quick raps from the side. He could've sworn he heard some noise, but couldn't really say the source. Grimacing, he was just about to knock one last time... when he heard sound of shattering glass.

It was muffled, but in the silence of the night still quite audible.

That was it. Danny and Lewis decided to provide a distraction and Blake wasn't about to let it pass.

He nodded at Jamieson, who was the largest and most likely strongest of them all.

"Open it," Blake said and Jamieson stepped in front of the door, then with a well aimed kick sent it flying.

In hindsight, perhaps all they needed was to turn the knob. It was possible the suspects didn't lose time locking it if they were about to set the place on fire. But going with the way of least damage was always more Charlie's job. Seeing as he wasn't there...

The door flew open, smashing against the wall. Blake caught sight of two men straight in his line of vision... one with his back to him, weapon trailed down the hall towards the back entrance. The other man facing Blake with his hands mid-air, as if reaching for the door. On the floor was a third, injured individual.

Blake's sight focused on the man in front of him though. He was in a uniform, his nose bloody, bruises already forming under his eyes. For a second Blake thought it might've been one of the cops... perhaps Kelly?

But it wasn't Kelly; it wasn't anyone Blake had seen before. His eyes took note of the ill fitting arms of the uniform, the blood spatters on the pant legs, which were just a tad short.

Things clicked in his mind and what happened next was a matter of seconds.

He automatically raised his gun at the man in front of him.

Blake could feel Cunningham and Jamieson trying to push past him into the corridor. He could also see the armed man turning on his heels, weapon dangerously moving his way.

He reacted on instinct. He lunged forward, towards the uniformed imposter and bodily slammed him against the wall, rendering him momentarily too dazed to be dangerous. He also shouted a warning to the other.

„Gun!"

Fortunately, Jamieson had his revolver in hand. He wasn't the best shot, but when he pulled the trigger, the bullet found its way.

The armed man also managed to pull the trigger, but his bullet went wide, sailing through the air several inches behind Blake's head. He could feel the speed of it ruffling the hair on the back of his head even as the bullet smashed into the open door. Wood splintered, but no one paid it attention.

Jamieson's bullet hit the suspect in the upper shoulder, the gun flying from his hand.

That didn't make him harmless though.

With an angry shout, the man had rushed forward.

Blake could only watch as Jamieson's revolver bucked once more, but this time the bullet only grazed the opponent. It didn't even slow his approach.

Blake cursed, but couldn't really do much, as the man he was holding by the uniform suddenly buckled under him.

Blake felt a knee hit him dangerously close to his groin, ending up smashing against his thigh with bruising force. The pain and the threat of another kick was enough to put all his attention forward.

He managed to dodge another hit by quick reflexes. Balance was key in this case.

His opponent had just lost it.

Using the moment to his advantage, Blake delivered a hard punch to the already bruised face. He heard a crack of cartilage, followed by a wail of pain. The next second, instead of fighting off an enemy, he had to fight against gravity. Someone had just grabbed at his ankle and pulled.

Blake stumbled over the bent down moaning man, sending them both sprawling on the ground. It would have been comical if not for the fact his own weapon fell from his hands.

Blake fell gracelessly, half landing on top of the whimpering uniformed man, half on the floor. The fall took the wind out of him, but he didn't have time to try and catch it. His gun was gone. And there was a man... sprawled only few feet away from it.

Blake knew this wasn't a hostage.

No hostage would shoot him such a venomous glare. This one looked dangerous... and even half conscious, ready to grab the pistol.

„Not on my bloody life!" Blake grunted as he delivered a swift kick to the already downed man, hitting him in his bandaged leg.

It might not have been very sportsman like, but then, they weren't playing around. This was life and death.

The man let out a gasp and went limp.

Blake grabbed his gun.

Feeling safer by the mere feel of metal in his hand, Blake leant his back against the wall and took in the situation.

During the short scuffle he wasn't really aware of what was going on behind him. Now though he could see that Jamieson was pinning down the now unarmed suspect, who seemed to be sporting a few more bruises. Cunningham was just getting back up to his feet, looking oddly winded and flushed.

Blake shot him a questioning look, hoping he wasn't hit by a bullet. Cunningham noticed and shook his head, blushing a bit more. He rubbed at his sternum.

„Winded," he said a bit breathlessly. „You okay, Doc?"

Blake nodded, his eyes turning back towards the two men he fought with just moments ago. Both started to come around, moaning and moving their limbs.

Blake grunted and got up to his feet, keeping his weapon aimed their way.

„Handcuffs?" he said and Cunningham nodded. He only had one pair available, so did the next best thing. He grabbed an arm of each man and handcuffed them together. Seeing as one of them had a messed up leg, they could hardly just run away. The third one was still pinned down by Jamieson.

So far so good. Blake now looked into the corridor, eyes searching for Danny. Where was he? He and Lewis should have been there, unless something...

Lewis appeared from behind the corner, peeking in first carefully, then dashing forward.

„Everyone alright?" he asked and got several grunts in reply. Blake frowned, taking a step forward.

„Where's Danny?"

Lewis blinked, then grimaced.

"I have no clue. We heard some screaming from the cells and he rushed off that way."

"Why didn't you go with him?" Blake snapped, anger and worry colouring his voice.

"Because I heard gunshots from here!" Lewis snapped back, straightening.

Blake ran a hand over his face in frustration. There was no sense in going off on Lewis. This was hardly a standard situation and he had better things to do. Like help Danny. He was about to head towards the cells to do just that, when another thought occurred to him.

"Peter. Did you find him?"

Lewis blanched.

"No. I... the door to the main office was closed and lights were off so I thought-"

Blake growled.

"Help them out, then check the rest of the building," he nodded towards Cunningham and Jamieson. The men perhaps didn't need much help but he'd rather not have Lewis under foot right now.

Blake heard the three cops starting to argue almost instantly but he hardly cared. He had a decision to make.

Would he go help Danny or check on Peter? He was sure the main office hadn't been dark before their entrance; after all, Danny had seen Peter being held hostage by a masked man. There had to have been some light in there.

Thanks to the gunshots even the hope of keeping their presence a surprise went out the window. So if there was someone else in the building - and Blake was sure there must've been, based on Danny's description, they were already on high alert and most likely ready to do something... stupid.

While Blake's heart commanded him to go after Danny and provide some much needed backup, logically he knew Danny could handle himself. He was a cop, and a good one at that. But he was also Jean's adoptive nephew and Blake's friend.

„ _Bloody hell!"_ Blake cursed, hating to be in such situation. Still, he had to make a choice and in the end he knew what Danny would want. Help Peter.

So it was that Blake now stood in front of a door, the glass pane on it showing only utter darkness. Hesitantly, Blake reached out and nudged the door, pushing it softly to open wider, while he stepped to the side. He would prefer not to get shot right on the spot.

Even though the light in the corridor was on, he couldn't see anything past the small kitchen corner and the first two desks. Everything further in was cast in darkness.

Despite that, Blake knew the office was far from empty.

He could hear it.

Breathing.

One slow and measured... the other ragged and shaky.

There was no other sound, until he reached the first desk. Slowly, he turned on the desk lamp.

The darkness lifted and Blake looked towards the source of the sound.

He saw Peter, bound and bleeding, eyes wide with fear. A hand was laid seemingly resting at the base of his neck, where it met the shoulder. A gun was pressed against his head, held by a masked man.

As if that scene wasn't scary enough, the middle of the office had a huge pile of files and papers. Next to them was an opened can of petrol.

Blake swallowed, one hand still on the light switch. The other was holding the gun, but he didn't dare to raise and aim it at the moment, knowing well it would take him much longer to pull the trigger than the masked man.

„Well, seems like we are in a bit of predicament, aren't we?" the man drawled, nudging the nozzle of his gun just a tad harder against Peter's skull. Peter let out a muffled groan, closing his eyes momentarily.

"Indeed, that seems to be the case," Blake said with a resigned sigh. He just hoped that Danny was faring better.

* * *

Charlie had a myriad of questions floating through his brain. Pity he couldn't ask any of them.  
The silence after Bill's admission was heavier than the silence of the building. Charlie had cleared his throat and they kept on trudging forward. Charlie wondered if he should say something. Perhaps an _'I'm sorry to hear that, Bill,'_ but the tension of the man leaning against him was like a warning sign.  
Charlie could tell Bill was already regretting saying anything and no wonder really. Hobart was the last person Charlie knew who would admit to some weakness. And having a mother in an asylum, for whatever reason, would be regarded as weakness by people around. Though perhaps it explained some aspects of Hobart's character, Charlie was careful not to dwell on it. Still, one question stayed on the forefront of his mind. Under different circumstances, he would have pushed it back, but right now he just couldn't.

So mentally preparing himself for some backlash, Charlie paused in their walk. Hobart didn't see anything strange about it, on the contrary. He seemed to be thankful for the pause, resting his leg.

Charlie took in a bit sharper breath and cleared his throat.

"Got something stuck in your throat Davis?" Bill snapped, turning the torch straight at Charlie's face for a second.

Charlie grunted, the light blinding him momentarily.

"Stop that," he grumbled and pushed Bill's hand with the torch away. Great. Now he had splotches of white in front of his eyes... while the corridors around them were drowned in darkness, all except the doorway to another - thankfully - empty room.

"If you have something on your mind then say it," Bill said through gritted teeth. He obviously expected some kind of ridicule, his whole posture stiffening, practically ready to push away from Charlie's support at any time. Charlie forced back a hiss of discomfort. He had to compensate for the weight redistribution and the twitch in his side returned with vengeance. It was getting a bit bothersome, but Charlie could hardly complain, so he focused on the matter at hand.

He wanted to tell Bill to stop acting like an idiot really, but thought that might just make their common trek all the more uncomfortable.

Instead he did what Bill asked for.

"Was your mum..." he paused, as much to formulate the question right, as to steel himself for Bill's possible out lash. "Was your mum here?"

Bill had stood frozen in place and Charlie wished he could have the torch and see the man's face for once. All he could base the reaction to his question on was the slight shiver running over Hobart's form.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" Charlie started after the silence was too long. He really didn't want to stick a hornets' nest.

"No."

Charlie blinked. Was that an answer to his question or was that Bill's reaction to him even asking?

"She was at the Lake Mental hospital, not here."

It was clear Bill didn't want to say any more, but then he surprised Charlie.

"Any other questions, detective Davis?"

The title was almost spat out and Charlie cringed inwardly. Though he knew this was probably his only chance to learn something personal about Bill Hobart in the close future, if ever.

"Did... did she get better?"

For a very long moment, it felt as if the man leaning heavily on his shoulder was made of solid, unmoving rock. Charlie forced back the urge to pinch him or nudge him in order to get a reaction. The torch in Bill's hand blinked and that seemed to do the trick however.

"No. She never did," Bill spoke, his voice scratchy and deep, with a farewell quality to it. It was heavy and it carried the pain of a lifetime and Charlie regretted ever speaking up.

"I'm s-" he started, but Bill's fingers painfully dug into his shoulder.

"I swear Davis, if you start apologizing, I will kick your ass, broken leg or not!" Bill snapped and Charlie believed him.

"Okay. I think... we should get moving," he said, trying for as neutral tone as possible.  
Bill grunted something under his breath but seemed to agree.

"This stays between us, is that clear?" He spoke as they resumed their walk and Charlie almost snorted. Of course. Who would he go around telling a sob story about Bill Hobart? Hardly anyone would believe him, not to mention...

"I'm not that kind of man," he said and the slight offense in his voice must've been clear enough. Bill relaxed marginally.

Good. Now they could just keep trying to survive this stupid mess and get back to the surface as soon as possible. Charlie was becoming rather tired of lugging Bill's weight around, not to mention the constant need to be vigilant. He wanted nothing more than to crash into the kitchen chair, have some of Jean's wonderful dinner and then go to bed. Possibly sleep through the next day, screw the plans of going pubbing with Danny. He was sure the man would understand his need for a lie in after several hours spent in Hobart's cheerful company.

The only trouble was... they were barely in the middle of their road. They went past the corner and Charlie knew the door they were approaching led to the main hall of the underground level. At least he hoped the layout of the underground level copied the upstairs. Although... if there was some shortcut, he would gladly take it.

Unfortunately, it seemed like there will be no shortcuts at all. The layout was different, though that hardly meant it was better. Perhaps a bit more... problematic.

Instead of a huge main hall that was closed off by a large room at the farther end, Charlie and Bill had basically ended up on a slightly larger corridor that offered a way to the left and straight ahead. The rest were just... walls.

Charlie blinked as both he and Bill stood in place, taken aback. Bill's hand trembled slightly as he was pointing the torch to the corridor on the left. It wasn't that deep and Charlie realized it ended abruptly just where the elevator shaft was located one floor up. He held his breath until the light revealed that indeed, there was a dark hole on the left, guarded by flimsy looking bars. At least Charlie assumed they were flimsy, it was hard to tell from their position. Exactly opposite the elevator shaft there was the only other door on the whole side corridor.

"You want to... check that out?" Charlie asked. In truth, he would rather not enter any more rooms if he could help it. If one ignored the normal horrors of such setting, there was still the knowledge that there was someone actually moving around the premises that might've not had their best intentions at heart. Every closed door or dark corner (and hell, the whole building was one dark corner) presented the danger of some lunatic popping out.

If someone had asked Charlie that would've been the answer he'd give as to why he was clutching just a bit harder at Bill's equally tense form. Or why he was so reluctant to move ahead, despite the fact the door might've led to a shortcut taking them straight through to the other side of the building and the staircase.

If Charlie was honest however, at least with himself, the fear he was feeling was totally illogical. It was the fear most humans felt when alone in the dark in a strange place. The thing that caused the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention, the feeling of cold fingertips crawling up his spine, the urge to run away screaming or freeze up in place, clench his eyes shut and just pray that the monsters would go away. It was irrational, it was primal. But most of all, it was real and his body was reacting accordingly.

Charlie's breathing had sped up a bit, even as the torch made a sweep of the corridor, showing more dilapidated walls, signs of human destruction and cobwebs. Lots of cobwebs hanging above their heads, in the corners... over doorways. Charlie gritted his teeth a bit too hard. It felt as if he managed to grind them down straight to the nerves, as pain shot through his jaw. His headache thumped louder and he had to force his jaw to relax.

"Problem, Davis?" Bill asked and it was clear he was trying to appear strong and unbothered by their setting, but he couldn't hide the hitch in his voice or the slight tremble of the hand holding the torch.

Charlie still felt a bit safer hearing the man's voice.

"No. Just... taking a breather," he muttered, taking the moment to actually run a hand over his aching ribs. The pain wasn't lessening and he wondered how much longer he would be able to support Bill's form before letting on just how much discomfort it was causing him.

Well, perhaps a bit farther, Charlie thought as Bill reacted with a snort.

"And here I thought they would harden you up a bit at bonehead," Bill added offhandedly.

Charlie felt himself bristle.

"What the hell is your problem, Hobart?" he snapped. While he was usually a very patient man, hell, he had to be to work with Blake, even he had his limits. It was over a month from his return from Bonehead and he thought that Bill might've gotten used to that. He might've ignored his behaviour for a month longer, but right now he was stuck in a place he had no business of being at, after several long shifts. He was hungry, he was tired and he was hurt. On top of that, he was dragging Bill around, because the jackass was too proud to sit his ass down in a wheelchair. Charlie's tolerance was about gone.

"My current problem is a broken leg," Hobart snapped back, irritated.

Charlie shook his head, ignoring how it made the place spin momentarily.

"You know bloody well what I mean! You didn't stop harassing me about bonehead since my return. So... what the hell... is your bloody... problem?!" Charlie repeated, forcing the last few words through clenched teeth. Taking deep breaths and shouting wasn't exactly comfortable with bruised ribs.

"You are my problem, _detective!_ " Bill shouted back, pulling back from Charlie's support angrily, while pointing the light straight at his face.

Charlie squinted, turning away.

"What?" He didn't understand. Why would him being a detective piss Bill off so much?

"You... you just... sauntered in, made pals with one of the biggest pains in the ass and been a goody boy so Lawson wouldn't kick your ass back to Melbourne!" Bill spluttered. It hardly made much sense to Charlie.

"That was... years ago!" he protested, voice full of disbelief.

"Yeah... years ago! I had the same fucking rank years ago I have now! No thanks to all the crap you and Blake pulled!"

Charlie shook his head. Was Bill delusional? He was hardly the one stirring up trouble in Ballarat and Blake... well. That shouldn't reflect badly on Bill, should it?

Of course there was also his alignment with Munro which might've caused some trouble, but honestly, Charlie thought most of Bill's problems and lack of rank climbing was caused by Bill's own temper. No one wanted a hot head in the lead of the station.

All those things considered though...

"If you want to be a detective so much, why in bloody hell didn't you just... take the tests?" Charlie said in disbelief.

That was probably the wrong thing to say.

Charlie couldn't really see Bill's figure, because the man was hidden behind the light. But he could hear the angry breathing, or the smash of a fist against the wall.

Charlie cringed but felt relief upon the fact Bill didn't smash the torch.

"You think I didn't try?" came the low answer.

All Charlie could say to that was "Oh." Because everyone knew that you had only one chance at bonehead. If you failed the rigorous testing, that was it. You just didn't get a second chance.

Charlie knew how stressful that was... hell, he barely slept in those last two weeks, preparing himself for every possible question and situation. He saw the people around him getting ready for the exams. He saw several people flop out weeks earlier, the pressure being too much.

Honestly, Charlie felt he might've done the same at few points, if not for his experiences in Ballarat. After all... being stuck between Munro and Blake for several months while trying to keep his stance unclear for all but Lawson taught him a lot. Most of all to keep handle on the stress and to persevere.

He wasn't sure what part had Bill failed at, though he had a pretty good idea. There was nothing to do about it now however. And throwing tantrums in the middle of a crisis was just one more thing to beware of.

Charlie sighed then cringed, leaning over a bit. Damn, but all this excitement was doing squat for the pain. He noted that Bill had at least turned the light a bit off to the side so it now wasn't shining straight into his face. Though perhaps it was just so Bill could nurse his hand.

Charlie took a moment to get his breathing and temper under control.

"Look Bill-"

"Drop it," came from Bill, but Charlie shook his head.

"No. Not unless you do."

There was a momentary silence, filled only with the sound of their breathing. Charlie's slow and measured one, to Bill's angry hissing.

"Did you really _want_ to be a detective?" Charlie asked out of the blue.

"What?" Bill startled.

"You heard me. Did you _want_ to be a detective? Because let me tell you... the paperwork is nothing to envy."

Silence.

Then a snort.

"You're an idiot, _detective,_ " Bill said but Charlie heard that the anger and resentment was gone. Or well, if not gone, then at least momentarily subdued. And perhaps it would resurface again, but he thought solving that issue would have to wait. Preferably until the time where they could sit down with a cold beer and talk it out like adults. Somewhere with more... light and safety.

"Well, idiot or not, right now I'm your only way out. Unless you fancy hobbling all the way to the staircase alone."

There was a sigh, then the sound of shuffling. Charlie reached out and resumed his position as Bill's crutch.

"I still think you suck, Davis," Bill uttered tiredly.

Charlie shrugged with a grunt.

"Goes both ways. Speaking of ways... which one?"

Bill turned the torch to the dead end corridor with the elevator shaft in front of them, then to the long corridor obviously copying the layout from above. He sighed.

"I guess we should check this out..."

Charlie nodded.

He didn't want to, he was pretty sure the dead end was just that... but he knew they must. If there was even a small chance of shortening their journey... they had to take it.

With a heavy heart and even heavier weight on his shoulders, Charlie headed towards the lonely door across the elevator shaft, Bill his somehow reluctant companion.

* * *

Lawson was wrong. He realized that quite early on, as he was passing through the daunting corridor filled with statues. Having the windows flanking the left wall wasn't all that reassuring. While yes, a bit of moonlight could be helpful in case his torch decided to give up the fight, it wouldn't do more than help him not to crash into a bench or some piece of 'art'. While he was sure that Lucien would appreciate the statues and find his fear of the things perhaps amusing, Lawson didn't have that luxury. He was never appreciative of the finer arts and statues mostly left him cold.

Of course that was when he was walking through a well lit museum with others for company. Really... who thought it was a good idea to leave these slabs of stone in human forms in a hallway of a blasted insane asylum? As if the poor souls didn't have enough to deal with.

Lawson tried to force himself not to look at them, especially as he saw one that looked too much like a child. Was that an actual knitted hat on the statues head? Lawson grunted, feeling cold and twitchy despite the stifling, musty heat.

The windows... they were dusty. No, not dusty, more like grimy. They barely let anything past, except for shadows. Lawson occasionally caught sight of a tree and more blasted statues.

Gritting his teeth, Lawson decided the faster he got to the staircase the better. It was useless to make himself more paranoid by looking around. The torch at least provided him with enough light to know that there was no imminent danger lying ahead. He would just have to ignore the chills running down his spine and keep going.

Few minutes later Lawson wished the statues were his only problem. It would have been so much easier to deal with his own fear than with the reality of the situation.

The doorway to what he expected was the staircase was... gone.

Not just locked or blocked by debris, no. Where there was supposed to be a door, there was only a wall of bricks and mortar. No paint, no wallpaper. It was clear that there used to be a doorway, just as clear that someone had decided to wall it up.

Lawson stood there, staring for a good whole minute.

Bloody hell.

What now?

He was of half a mind to start smashing the wall with his cane but knew that would be stupid and useless. The mortar was dry... the wall was dusty like most of this place. It wasn't done recently and that deserved a question of why. Why would someone have it walled up?

The only thing that came to his mind was safety issues. If the other staircase was in a bad shape or had collapsed earlier, it was logical that someone who was taking care of the building in the past had at least taken some precaution to stop curious kids from falling to their death. Pity the bastard didn't do the same with the other staircase. That would have saved Lawson and both his men plenty of headaches and possibly a broken leg as well.

However, this posed a rather big problem right now. How was he supposed to help Bill and Charlie? He was hoping the staircase was similarly treated one floor down as well. The thought of Charlie and Bill somehow managing to get up the stairs with Bill's broken leg, only to find it walled up made him sick to his stomach. Not to mention how big of a risk it was really.

Lawson wished he could let the men below know that the way out didn't lead through there. He also wished to know where to turn now. If the only way down was blocked, well. He needed to return to the town and bring help. Perhaps with the help of few men they could clear up the collapsed staircase enough to use the rope and get Charlie and Bill up... what he needed right now was to get to the town.

Lawson once again cursed the bastard that slashed their tires. Or the fact it was Charlie who was trapped down below. If it had been Lawson and Bill, Charlie could've reached the town within few hours, he was sure. Maybe sooner if he managed to flag down a car halfway there.

But Lawson, with his bum leg? It would take him ages. Who knew what could happen in all that time?

Though he was pretty sure that whatever was going on at the station, Lucien and Parks would figure it out sooner rather than later. After all, they were both noisy bastards and both had been expecting them for dinner. There was no way Blake would wave off their sudden vanishing.

No, help would arrive sooner or later and he refused to worry about what was happening at the station, if anything. Perhaps he could still use the car... as long as it started up, Lawson might get a few miles out of it even on bare rims. Hopefully, he could even make it to one of the main roads and hitch a ride...

Nodding, Lawson turned on his heels. He wished he could communicate to Charlie and Bill his plan, to tell them to hold on and wait, that help was coming, but he had no idea how and standing around was just a loss of time. He trusted that his men would understand the situation and hang on, perhaps even find another way out.

Determined to not make them wait any longer than necessary, Lawson resumed a moderately brisk walk back towards the main hall. He was in the middle of the corridor when his torch turned off.

"Bugger! Not now!" Lawson called out, the chilling fear of being left in total darkness in the company of silent statues and crawling spiders sending his heart into blind panic. He stopped in place, smacking the torch, turning it on and off, shaking it. It took a few shakes but finally the last thump worked. The light turned on and Lawson let out a shaky breath, his heart still beating too fast.

"Thank lord," he mumbled, his hands trembling as he made a quick turn to check that no one had suddenly managed to sneak up behind him.

He paused at one of the statues, frowning at it. Was it always looking his way? And where was the hat from the kid statue's head?

Lawson swallowed, but then saw the hat had just fallen down a bit, most likely as he was passing by.

He cursed and reached up to brush the sweat off his brow. He turned back to resume his walk towards the main hall, when the torch landed on one of the windows.

His heart stopped.

The blood in his veins turned to ice.

There, on the glass, was a pale handprint.

Lawson blinked.

Not a handprint.

A bloody hand... and face! Pressed against the glass!

For a second he thought he was having a heart attack. All the scary stories he had read as a child, all the camp fire stories they had shared during warm spring nights came back with vengeance.

For a moment, he was five years old again, listening wide eyed to his older cousin regaling him and several other kids with the tale of a headless rider killing off campers that didn't put out their camp fires properly. He had nightmares about it for the next few years and sneaked out several times during the night to check that the fire was truly out and the headless rider won't have a reason to kill them all.

The face on the glass moved, the eyes blinking. The hand pulled back and suddenly Lawson was looking at an empty space.

That shook him out of his stupor.

This was no bloody ghost.

Ghosts didn't leave dirty handprints on the glass.

Ghosts also didn't slash tires or break police radios.

The fear he felt just a second ago turned into rage.

If there was one thing Lawson hated more than anything, it was feeling scared.

With a curse, he let the heavy rope slip from his shoulders and lunged towards the window.

The darn thing couldn't be opened. There was no latch. Of course, it made sense... no one wanted the patients to just crawl out of a window obviously. With a growl, Lawson took a step back and used his cane to smash the window open.

It took him a few whacks, but the glass finally broke. He used the cane to get rid of the sharp glass shards sticking out. Without a second thought, Lawson heaved himself through the windowsill and landed on the hard ground. His leg gave a loud protest, but he ignored it. With a deep breath, he swished his torch around, trying to catch sight of movement.

"Police! Come out!" Lawson called out, hoping to startle the culprit.

Nothing.

No movement, no sound, except for the crickets and the slight breeze swishing through the bushes and trees.

Lawson gritted his teeth and started walking the perimeter. The inner yard was equally large, framed from three sides by the building, the fourth side led out into what looked like an unkempt forest. His eyes caught movement in front of him, but it was far ahead and there was nothing he could do but shout another warning. He had no weapon, not even a bloody rock he could throw at the culprit. All he could do was speed up his limping gait and hope the dark figure would trip and not get up until he reached it.

Of course, he wasn't that lucky. His leg was throbbing and it was him who almost tripped and fell to the ground. He had to pause, cursing his bum leg and the uneven terrain. He was thankful that at least the chance of disturbing a snake in the cooling night was smaller. But that was a small consolation when there were so many more animals or traps that could be lurking in the too high, unkempt grass. His torch bobbed as Lawson resumed his pursuit, even though he already knew it was in vain. He saw the figure take a swift turn and head towards the forest just as Lawson reached the corner of the east wing.

'Bloody bastard!' Lawson thought but he didn't follow. However much he wanted to catch the man, he realized it would be futile. He didn't know the terrain, or even if the man was alone. He could have been lured into another trap, just like his men and what then? They would be indeed trapped without a hope for rescue for the foreseeable future.

No, he had to swallow his rage and pride and start thinking like a leader. First and foremost, he had to help Bill and Charlie. That meant getting outside help.

With a growl and feeling as if he was failing his job, Lawson turned the opposite way of where the suspect fled. He went right, copying the layout of the building so that it would take him back to the front entrance and the cars.

He thought earlier that being outside would be preferable to the inside... and it was true, to a certain degree. The fresh air felt like a balm on his face after the dinky smell of the hallways. Yet the open space didn't provide any more feeling of safety, quite the contrary. The swishing of leaves in the breeze, the occasional movement in the bushes, it all made his skin crawl. Was he being followed?

Lawson kept turning around, making sure no one was lurking up behind him. He felt paranoid but knew there was a reason and his instincts kept screaming at him to keep his back to the building instead of the forest.

He actually let out a sigh of relief as he reached the corner of the east wing and saw their cars parked in the front. There was a thought that the cars wouldn't be there anymore and he was glad that was just his mind acting up and not reality. Still, the closer he got to the cars, the slower his steps were.

His stomach was churning uncomfortably.

He felt like he was abandoning Charlie and Bill.

Logically, he knew he was going for help, but logic also said that he was leaving them behind with an unknown threat, hurt and without explanation.

Lawson reached Hobart's car and leaned against the door, taking a second to catch his breath and sort his thoughts before making his final decision.

"Blasted place!" he cursed, smashing a hand against the door.

He was torn and he knew he shouldn't be. It was a simple decision, yet he couldn't make it.

He felt like he was at the end of his rope... literally. He couldn't just leave.

Lawson took in a deep breath then looked back at the eerie building towering above him.

Somewhere in the depths of it, his men were trying to find an exit, and he was leaving them at the end of their ropes too.

Lawson blinked.

The rope.

Of course.

He cursed.

There was still one way they could try. As long as he got the rope... which he had discarded in the middle of the east wing. Lawson grimaced. There was no other option though... he had to try. With a rush of new determination, Lawson headed back towards the asylum. He wasn't leaving without his men, come hell or high water.


	8. Chapter 8

It took a bit longer than five minutes, but they were off and on their way to the police station. Rose had to force back the urge to step on the gas. After all, they didn't really want to catch up with Blake and Danny. Still, there was the sense of urgency.

She fiddled with the radio nervously even as she tried to pay attention to the road ahead. It was already dark outside and she didn't like driving in the dark. Who knew what critter would decide to jump in front of her car and the last thing she wanted was to run over some animal... or crash her car trying to get out of the way.

As she turned the knob of the radio receiver, her fingers trembled slightly. She fumbled and the car swerved just a tiny bit, but it was enough to get her heart pumping that much faster.

Jean's hand settled on hers gently.

"Perhaps we can do without the music?" she said, her tone clear about the fact she preferred if Rose put her attention back to the road.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Rose said, biting her lower lip in embarrassment. There was momentary silence and Rose knew she just couldn't handle that.

"Do you think they're alright?"

"Charlie and Matthew?" Jean specified and Rose nodded. It wasn't like she wasn't worried about Danny and Blake as well, but they at least went out slightly prepared and knowing there was danger. So far, Rose still had no idea what could have happened to her uncle and friend and it was driving her crazy.

"I don't know," came the reply she didn't expect. Or perhaps one she just didn't want to hear. Jean must've seen the growing worry on her face because she gently patted her arm.

"Now, I'm truly hoping they are alright. But I just don't know and I don't want to lie."

Rose gave a short nod.

"That's fair. I... I just keep thinking, if something really bad happened... wouldn't we know?"

Jean raised a questioning brow and Rose grimaced, feeling a bit silly all of a sudden.

"Like... if something bad happens to someone you care about... shouldn't you... you know. Get a feeling or something?"

"Ah..." Jean's eyes turned away, her face losing a bit of colour and Rose realized what she said.

"Never mind. It's... it's fine. They're fine," she said quickly, but Jean shook her head.

"It... it doesn't always work that way," she spoke and Rose risked a look away from the road.

"What do you mean?"

Jean shrugged.

"I didn't know Christopher died until I got the official visit. I mean... I kept having nightmares and I worried. I had a rock in my stomach from the moment he went to war, but... that was the usual fear. It wasn't a... feeling, or certainty. For all I know... I could've been making pie or singing to the boys the moment he-" Jean swallowed then shook her head.

"I knew that morning that something was wrong... shortly before the man came, but that was all."

"I'm sorry," Rose said and she meant it. She was sorry for her loss, for posing the question. Most of all she was sorry because this didn't ease her own worry. Somehow, she always thought that if something happened to a loved one, she would just... know. That she would feel the loss instantly, like something important was pulled from her body, never to return.

She supposed that was how one felt after a loss, once it came to be true. Despite being an adult, with a logical mind, she still hoped she would never have to face that. She knew she was wrong of course.

"This won't help," Jean spoke all of a sudden and Rose startled from her thoughts.

"What?"

"The moping and worrying. We need to focus on what is actually happening... so that we know what to do."

Rose blinked.

Jean was right of course. She was acting like a worried girlfriend or niece, instead of acting like a journalist that she was. She needed to get a grip and think about what they actually knew and what they could do.

"What about the Bendigo station? How... how will we call them if we get caught up in whatever is happening?"

Jean's lips tightened. It was clear she wasn't happy about their situation, even less the fact Blake basically left them home as backup. Now that they were nearing the site of trouble, they were starting to realize perhaps there was some wisdom about that. Especially if the burden of informing someone else now lay on their shoulders.

„There is a payphone not far from the station. We can use that, if the situation will get out of hand."

Rose glanced at Jean.

„What exactly is out of hand?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, feeling just a tad like she did when she and her friend in the elementary sneaked around the school grounds after nightfall, hoping to catch the janitor doing something illegal, so they could make a breakthrough article for the school paper and perhaps get the man fired. He was an asshole after all. At the time she and the friend also had a plan if things got out of hand... it was called fleeing. She vividly remembered how that one failed though.

„I suppose we will see?" Jean said with a hint of a smile.

Rose huffed, but turned her attention back to the road. They were nearing the police station so she slowed down, looking around for a spot to park the car. She saw an empty space just under the tree. She supposed it stayed empty because any car parked underneath would swiftly turn into birds dumping space, but that was hardly her concern right now. They were a street down from the station and couldn't see or hear anything that would clue them in.

„Ready to spy on the detectives?" Rose asked and Jean grinned at her.

„I thought I'd never hear that. As ready as I can be, after marrying the most stubborn man under the sun."

Rose chuckled and pulled the key from the ignition. She hesitated only for a moment before she grabbed her trusty camera. An article wasn't exactly on the forefront of her mind, but she wouldn't turn down the opportunity to get a shot of Danny or Blake taking down some baddies.

Jean looked at the camera around her neck, but didn't comment. They both headed down the empty street, glad that their chose shoes that didn't clap loudly on the pavement. Last thing they'd want was to announce their presence to whoever was around.

They kept silent and soon they reached the corner of the street. It was the one facing the back of the police station.

„Should we try to go to the front?" Rose whispered, trying to find Blake's car. She couldn't see it, but she assumed they had already arrived. Probably parked closer to the front entrance.

Jean shook her head.

„No. I think we can have a good vantage point from over there," she pointed towards a bench and some bushes at the farthest end of the parking lot near the back entrance of the station. The bench and bushes were in total darkness as the closest lamp seemed to have blown out.

Rose nodded and they made it over the road and quickly took up their new watching place. And Rose had to admit, Jean picked a good one. She could see straight at the back entrance and if she turned, she saw the payphone maybe fifty metres from them.

It took a bit of waiting and a lot of patience, but it paid off. Rose spotted them first. Danny and some other cops, lurking around the wall of the station. She watched, tempted to pull out her camera and take a shot, but knowing that would be stupid. She would have to use the flash to catch anything and she wasn't about to jeopardize whatever was going on there.

She and Jean watched in tense silence as Danny and the cops seemed to catch sight of something they didn't like. When they swiftly left the scene, Rose felt her stomach twist in apprehension.

„Something _is_ wrong," she said and felt like an idiot for even having to voice that. Of course something was wrong, they knew that all along. But Danny's reaction and retreat told her whatever it was, it was bad. She was worried about Danny and Blake, who were obviously planning some kind of action. She was frightened for Charlie and her uncle though.

„What do we do now?" she asked when Jean didn't seem to want to move. Rose itched to go after Danny and make him tell her what he saw, what the plan was. Obviously, that would be a bad idea.

„We wait," Jean said softly, though it was apparent she was tense as well.

Rose frowned.

„I'm not best at waiting," she admitted and got an amused look from Jean.

„You're a journalist. I thought lurking around was your hobby," she said with a twitch of her lip. Rose rolled her eyes.

„Yes, but not when my friends and family are involved!" she hissed back. Admittedly, that wasn't exactly true she knew, as she remembered the incident with Charlie and his brother. But... that was different. Feelings were one thing... bodily harm was another.

„Still, we need to wait. I doubt they will try to get inside through the front door..." Jean's words faltered as she must've come to the same realization as Rose. This was Danny and Blake they were talking about. What were the chances of them doing something unexpected?

Rose groaned, but for the moment accepted that she would simply have to wait.

It took a while, or something that felt like eternity but couldn't have been more than ten minutes in reality. She was just about ready to say screw it, I'm going to see what's going on, when Jean's arm squeezed her shoulder.

„There!" Jean hissed, pointing to the corner of the building and seeing two people lurking around. She was pretty sure one of them was Danny.

This time, while his movements were stealthy, they were also rather purposeful. He and the other cop positioned themselves against the back entrance, clearly waiting for something.

Rose wasn't sure what it was. They were too far to hear, but there must've been some sort of signal or else they heard something, because suddenly the still duo went on hell bent to kick the door open. It didn't take them long and they vanished inside the building. Rose was standing now, giving up pretence of hiding, legs taunt, and ready to run. Jean was next to her, arm clutching her shoulder to keep her in place.

Until the shot rang out.

Rose wasn't aware if Jean let go first or if she sprung to action and broke out of her hold. One moment she was crouching by the bench, the next she was standing by the broken down door, frozen in place, heart beating rapidly inside her chest. Jean stood next to her, eyes widely scanning the hallway. They saw movement and on instinct pulled back, seeking cover behind the wall.

There were sounds of fighting but Rose recognized Blake's voice at some point. Then someone cursed and started reciting Miranda and Rose knew the police had got the upper hand.

Only now did she realize that they had totally ignored Blake's request and their original plan of calling help. Rose looked at Jean.

„Should we call help?" she mouthed and Jean looked torn. It was clear she wanted to go inside and find out if everyone was alright, but what if they walked right into the situation and did more harm than good?

Any hesitancy on their part was washed away as they heard the shouting and screams.

Was that Danny?

Rose didn't wait for Jean to stop her. She rushed in.

She caught a most unladylike curse flowing from Jean's lips but that didn't stop her from running down the hall, following the sound of shouting. She didn't have to glance back to know that Jean was close on her heels. There was no way that woman would stay behind.

* * *

Danny couldn't help but regret calling the guy. Lewis was an idiot. What was worse, it was an incompetent and cowardly idiot. That could've been a rather deadly combination. He figured that out as soon as they broke down the back entrance to the station. Perhaps they could've done it with less flair, but then Danny was half hoping they might create a distraction and offer at least some help to Blake and the guys coming from the front.

Trouble was, once they got inside. Danny caught sight of a door slamming shut, the one leading to the main office. He was about to burst in when he heard the gun shots. He froze in place, unsure what to do. Should he barge inside the main office, opening himself to whatever lie inside without thinking, or should he find out what was happening at the entrance?

The sound of a fight and curses made him decide quickly. He was about to turn the corner when he noticed that Lewis was still standing by the broken back door. The man looked pale and shaky and for a second Danny worried that perhaps he was hit by some stray bullet, but he couldn't see any blood or injury.

"Lewis!" Danny hissed, hating to lose time, but he couldn't just leave the man there. "Get moving!"

Lewis winced then visibly swallowed, taking a step inside. Danny could see his hands were shaking, which was definitely not a good look for a cop.

"I... uh... I'll... make sure... no one leaves," Lewis stuttered and Danny clenched his jaw.

He wanted to tell Lewis what he thought of him, but that would take too long. In the end, he thought that perhaps the man was less dangerous if he kept out of things. So he gave a tight nod.

"There's someone in the main office still. Guard the door," Danny ordered. He saw Lewis blanch and take a step to the side automatically, so that he would be out of fire range from said door. Danny shot him an unimpressed look but decided there were more important things to do. Like check on Blake and the guys.

He had just turned the corner to see that the men mostly had things under control. Well, they all seemed to be struggling and getting in a few punches, but as far as he could tell, neither of them was shot. Blake had just kicked a guy on the floor in the leg and Jamieson was doing a good job of pulling of some perps arm in the process of rendering him harmless.

Danny took a few steps towards them, intent on helping with getting the men under control so that they could focus on the perp in the main office and the possible hostage, when he heard the screaming.

He froze in place.

He didn't recognize the voices, but he could tell whatever was happening wasn't good. The screams were angry and panicked at the same time. They held the sort of desperation that only came with the realisation of oncoming death.

Danny looked at the scene in front of him. The fight and struggle was coming to an end. Seeing that, he turned and rushed towards the source of the screams. He caught sight of Lewis coming up the hallway and wanted to tell him to get back to his post, but he didn't want to lose time arguing with the idiot. He just hoped the man wouldn't mess something up.

It would have been nice to have an actual backup but he knew Blake had his own problems to deal with. Hopefully, whatever the situation awaiting him could be handled. Only thing he regretted was the fact he was unarmed.

He cursed the fact that the main office seemed to be occupied by the bad guys right now, because the cabinet with the weapons was there. The only place he could perhaps get his hand on anything handy was the small janitorial room located near the stairs to the cells.

Grimacing, Danny came to a halt in front of the door, trying not to cringe at the louder sounding cries for help and curses coming from downstairs. He pulled at the door and was relieved when it opened. At least one thing he didn't have to fight his way in, he thought, but a look inside quickly dampened his elation.

The cabinet hardly offered anything that could be of much use in his situation, unless he wanted to mop up all the blood that would surely be spilled if he didn't get a move on.

"Bloody hell!" Danny uttered, needing to let out some of his frustration, even as his eyes landed on a rickety looking broom in the corner.

He wanted to curse some more but recognized the fact it wouldn't help and he should probably be thankful anyway. A broom, however weird it looked in his hands, was still better than nothing.

Grabbing the makeshift 'weapon', Danny rushed down the stairs.

_"Fucking bastard!"_

_"Let me go! Do you know who I am?!"_

_"Help!"_

All those cries were interspersed by the sound of laughter, rattling of bars, feet kicking against doors.

"I hardly care who you lot are," the masked man chuckled even as he splashed the cell and its occupant with gasoline.

Danny felt sick to his stomach. He had an inkling that the attackers were trying to burn down the police station when they caught sight of the guy bringing in the cans. But he didn't really think they would actually try and burn the people inside alive? That was just...

Danny couldn't stop the grimace of disgust, not that anyone was paying attention to him. The attacker was several metres ahead, splashing away, chuckling at the angry cries of the prisoners. Danny was hoping he would stay that way long enough for him to reach him and brain him with the broom, but... luck wasn't on his side.

The can was obviously empty and the man turned to throw it away and grab the second one. He moved too fast... Danny had nowhere to hide and he was too far to use the broom still.

It was only a blink of a second when they both froze, facing each other. Then the empty petrol can went flying right at Danny's head.

He raised the hand holding the broom on instinct just in time for the can to connect with his forearm painfully. It was still better than his head, Danny thought in the moment somehow dumbly. He still had the broom in his hand, while the canister clattered to the floor. He made a move forward, swishing almost automatically. The bristled head of the broom swiped at the masked head, landing on the shoulder and breaking off with a crunch.

There was a grunt, but it was hardly enough to stop the man's approach.

Danny saw the man rush at him and in the next moment he felt a full body punch as he was thrown to the ground. The attacker kept his own balance and Danny found himself in the most vulnerable position on the floor. A foot came his way and he managed to roll away, but the move got him closer to the cells.

The situation wasn't good.

He was on the floor, slightly dazed from the knock, with no way of escape. The prisoners were still screaming and rattling at the bars, which wasn't really helpful. The blasted broom lay out of reach, behind the masked man that was approaching, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"Fucking pigs. You just can't stay out of things, can you? Well now, there's only one kind of pig I like... a roasted one," the man said with a chuckle as he reached for the second petrol can. Danny wanted to get up and punch that smile off his face, kick his ass and throw him in one of those cells, but he barely managed to make it up back to his feet when he felt the gasoline hit him in the face.

Spluttering, he automatically covered his face and eyes from the vile liquid. His heart was hammering as he felt it running down his skin, soaking into his clothes. His eyes burned even from just the few drops that managed to roll down his closed eyelids. He rubbed frantically at his face, pressing his body back into the corner.

Panic was quickly taking over his rational mind.

He should've attacked, should've rushed forward and knocked the bastard down, but for that moment all he could think of was the liquid covering his body and how flammable it was.

He tried to blink away the tears that sprung to his irritated eyes as he managed to rub some of the gasoline in. He had to see, had to attack, had to do _something_.

There was the sound of the canister being put down then rustling.

Danny's eyes cleared just in time to see the man pulling something out of his pocket... grinning like a fool. Danny couldn't make out what it was, his sight still a bit blurry, but one of the prisoner's near him started to scream with renewed vigour.

"Let's see how long it takes to roast a Ballarat pig, shall we?" came the voice and Danny knew that the thing were matches. There was no time to lose, he had to move.

There was a flash of light and for a second Danny thought he was already too late. The matches had been lit; the light must've been the fire...

He didn't feel pain though.

There was no fire.

Danny blinked, seeing stars.

"The fuck?" the man uttered and before Danny could voice the same, there was a dull thunk, followed by a crash of a body.

"No one told you you shouldn't play with matches?" An all too familiar voice called out, followed by another familiar chuckle.

Danny blinked, unable to comprehend what just happened.

In front of him stood two figures. As his sight finally cleared of the stars, he could make out the smug faces of Jean and Rose.

Rose was still holding the camera with the flash, ready to take another shot. Jean was treaming a fire extinguisher, with an air of satisfaction Danny only saw on her face when she managed to one up Blake in something. At both women's feet lay the crumpled form of Danny's former attacker.

"Jean?" Danny voiced, somehow still unable to believe what he was seeing.

"What? You didn't really think we would stay behind and make tea, did you?" she raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to counter her.

Danny swallowed then shook his head.

He was starting to wonder just who was really the more dangerous in the Blake household. Somehow, he doubted it was the Doc.

* * *

For a moment, Charlie thought that fate might've actually taken pity on them. Not at first sight, no. As he and Bill carefully entered the darkness, above all else, they were hit by the smell of rust. A sweep of the torch revealed a row of decaying lockers. Most of them had their doors open, hanging off of the hinges, rusty and covered in cobwebs. On each door there were name tags. Well, on the first row. As Charlie found out soon enough, farther into the room the lockers had numbers instead of names. In the middle of the row there was an occasional bench, covered in dust.

"Not creepy at all," Bill muttered as he turned the light to see that the lockers led almost all the way to the other side of the room where there seemed to be a spot of free space. Hobbling and grimacing, the duo made their slow way there, only to find another long row of lockers, once again leading to the other side of the room. It looked a bit like a maze for lab rats.

"Are they bloody kidding?" Charlie let out a curse as he saw the layout. If the room copied the size of the main entrance hall above or the dining room, Charlie thought there might be at least five rows of lockers. If there wasn't a door at the end... Bill would not be a happy camper.

"Maybe..."

"What?" Bill barked, already pissed as he came to the same conclusion.

"Well. I can go ahead and check it? Would be... faster."

Bill tensed on his shoulders.

"Bill?"

"We have only one torch," Hobart reminded him, voice thick.

Charlie grimaced. He understood Bill's apprehension. He didn't much like the idea of separating, even if they were still in the same room, but it would be him taking the light, leaving Bill alone in total darkness.

"Up to you. Want to wait here or come along?"

"I don't see a reason to... hang around," Bill grunted and nudged Charlie to start walking again.

Charlie sighed, but didn't complain. Even though he would have preferred having a moment without the added weight on his shoulders. His left one was especially starting to hurt and he wondered if he hadn't pulled it or something. He didn't think it got messed up during the fall, though who knew. It wasn't like the fall itself was very clear in Charlie's mind.

"If there is no door-" Charlie said, taking a second to catch his breath as they turned another corner, another row of lockers, "- we kick these things down. I'm not walking back the same way," he swore through gritted teeth.

All Bill could do was snort in agreement. It was clear he was trying to control his breathing and somehow handle the pain. Charlie wanted to offer him a break, but he was sure there was just one more row of lockers ahead. Surely then they would find out if this was a happy shortcut or a stupid dead end.

If it was the latter, Charlie would just flop down onto one of those disgustingly dusty benches and take a few minutes. To hell with pride. Hell, he was sure at that point Bill would just start screaming in rage.

"Davis? You see that?" Bill asked suddenly, pausing mid stride and Charlie almost stumbled.

"What?"

Bill jerked the torch to the end of the room and there... it was clearly a door.

"Thank lord!" Charlie let out and felt almost giddy with relief. All they needed was to get there and hopefully, the staircase would be just a few meters away...

With some renewed energy and hope, Bill and Charlie made it to the door faster than they anticipated. Charlie reached out shakily, hoping that Bill wouldn't comment on that little detail.

He turned the knob... and the door opened.

Charlie thought he might actually weep as they stepped out into another unknown corridor.

It took him a moment to orientate himself. This corridor looked different than the one they entered through. At first sight he thought it was just the creepy atmosphere. However strange the locker room looked, it felt somehow... safer, than the rest of the building. After all, it had a door that closed behind them, with a rather loud creak. If anyone would have entered, they could hear it. But being back in the corridor felt like being out in the open.

Bill must've felt the same apprehension, because he kept moving the torch from one spot to another. Perhaps that was the reason why it took Charlie a minute to notice.

"Stop!" he uttered, reaching out and stilling Bill's hand.

The torch landed on the wall.

Charlie swallowed.

Bill froze.

They were turned with their backs to the corridor. By all means, the way they were facing, there should have been a door and a staircase.

There was a wall.

"Fuck!" Bill cursed and Charlie couldn't but share the sentiment.

"We're so screwed," he said even as he let Bill lean against the wall. He couldn't even feel relief upon the momentary loss of added weight on his shoulders. To the contrary. He felt adrift and cold. A shiver ran through his body. He didn't realize how much he sweat through his shirt and blazer until he lost the additional heat source of Bill by his side.

He wanted to lean back against the wall right next to Bill, perhaps even slide down to the floor and just ... weep.

But he knew if he did that, he most likely wouldn't be able to get back up on his feet. So he gently pried the torch out of Bill's hand and walked right up to the wall. He put his free hand against it, tracing the mortar and the bricks.

It was clear there used to be a door.

Just as clear that it had been walled up a long time ago.

Charlie felt anger rush into him.

They were so damn close, only to be stopped by a few stupid bricks!

He wanted to smash his fist into the wall, he wanted to tear it down and drag Bill up those damn stairs.

All he did was press his hand against the brick, as hard as he could, fighting back the urge to perhaps smash his head against it. His side twitched painfully, shoulder throbbing in unison.

Why the hell would someone do this?

_'Perhaps because the staircase was dangerous?'_ a tiny voice noted inside his head and Charlie groaned, hoping it was really just his inner voice and not some hallucination... or ghost. But no... Bill didn't seem to react to that. He was still puffing out curses and lamentations, fighting to stay upright.

"What now?" Charlie asked out loud.

They couldn't go back the way they came, that staircase was definitely blocked. Unless Lawson brought in some serious help, there was no way they could get out that way. But was there any other way?

"Can't we just... break down the wall?" Bill voiced what Charlie thought, but he had to shake his head.

"If there's no other way..." Charlie admitted. "But... most likely the whole staircase is blocked."

Bill mulled that over than nodded.

"Yeah. I'm sure Lawson would be knocking down that wall already if he could've gotten down there."

That was a valid point.

Charlie didn't want to bring up the possibility that Lawson had other problems to deal with, like a possible attacker that got them into this trouble. Just the thought of his boss being upstairs alone made Charlie's stomach churn painfully.

"We need to find another way," he said determinedly. "We can't just... sit here and wait," he added with a tinge of despair.

"I'm not arguing," Bill grunted, even though under the beam of the torch he looked like he could've used some rest. Or a bed. He was pale as a ghost and Charlie shivered.

For a second he was overcome with the thought that Bill hadn't survived the fall, that this pale apparition was just that, a ghost. But a ghost would hardly be as stubborn or heavy, Charlie realized, rubbing at the back of his neck. Bill was real and Charlie was real and he needed to stop panicking and start thinking like a cop.

He used the fact he still had the torch in his hand and shone its light down the corridor they haven't travelled so far.

"There... must be another exit. We need to check out these rooms. Maybe... maybe there will be some window or something... something we can use."

"Like what?" Bill snorted, not at all happy about the idea of more walking. "A hammer? Another 'wheelchair'? Or some rope we can hang ourselves on to shorten our suffering?" he added sarcastically.

"You don't have to be an ass," Charlie snapped back, then paused.

A rope.

He knew that Lawson had a rope, from their car. Perhaps he could try and let one end down at the other staircase? Charlie grimaced. He hasn't seen how the place looked now, but he heard the crash. The chance that they could somehow make their way through that without bringing the rest down on top of their heads seemed low. Though if worst came to worst and there was no other way, Charlie would at least take a look and make sure.

No, tracing back down the corridor, checking out every room and... what? Where would they return?

The only place where he felt even slightly less creeped out in this whole underground level were the locker rooms.

Charlie's mind was running down their options. In worst case, they would have to wait a few hours... or perhaps even days for rescue. That depended on whether Peter would tell anyone where they went, or if Lawson went for help. Charlie didn't even entertain the possibility that Lawson might be dead or hurt himself. Help would come. They just had to wait.

"We should... check out this corridor and then... get some rest. Back in the locker room. We can lie down on the benches," he added as an afterthought. While he was sure there were more comfortable places to lie down here, after all, they had seen several gurney's in the treatment rooms, Charlie didn't want to be anywhere near them. At least there was a pretty big chance that the locker room wasn't used for any kind of torture and that no one had suffered or died there.

Bill seemed, if not thrilled, then at least accepting of that option.

He gave a weary nod and Charlie walked back to him, offering his shoulder once again. They broke away from the support of the wall and just stood there, rather reluctant to continue, despite their new plan.

The light of the torch seemed to lessen, or perhaps it was just Charlie's imagination. Still, it didn't lighten up more than few meters then it looked as if the light was swallowed by hungry darkness. Charlie shivered and it was testament to their state that Bill didn't even comment on it, even though he must've felt it.

"Maybe we should just... go back to the locker room," Charlie muttered, thinking he had preferred even the dark and dank smell of the elevator shaft to the unwelcoming corridor-

"Bloody hell! We're idiots!" Charlie called out suddenly.

"Who the hell are you calling an idiot?" Bill protested, albeit meekly.

Charlie shook his head.

"No! We are! The shaft!"

"What the hell are you blabbering about?" Bill's voice was turning irritated but Charlie ignored it.

"The elevator!"

"What about it? It wasn't working," Bill stated and Charlie thought he must've been giving him a glare, clearly stating he was an idiot.

"No, but the elevator shaft is the way up!"

"Last time I checked, you couldn't fly. And I can hardly climb up the walls," Bill grunted, even though his tone has changed.

"The Boss has a rope. I don't know if it's long enough, but... it's worth a try. If nothing else, I'm sure he would've thought of that. We can communicate through the shaft."

Bill could hardly argue that, and he didn't even want to. After all, what was the alternative? The scary corridor and more walking down the memory lane? Or taking the shortcut through the relatively sane looking locker room and getting a chance to find out if Lawson was still around?

"Let's go then," Bill grunted and they both turned, entering the locker room. Charlie made sure the door behind them closed, then handed the torch back to Bill, to lead the way as he offered his support.

Despite the fact they were both tired and hurting, they had a goal. The trek back seemed to take much shorter and Charlie was glad for that. He wasn't sure how long he would manage to hold upright. He didn't want to stop and sit down before they knew what they were at. There was a pretty big chance he wouldn't get up for quite some time if he sat down.

They stood in front of the elevator shaft.

It was dark, no sign of light and Charlie gulped. If Lawson was there, wouldn't he be shining his torch down?

Probably not.

Maybe their boss didn't think about the shaft... or he decided to go for help. There were many options but Charlie didn't want to think about them. Not until he made sure.

Letting Bill rest against the wall right next to the elevator, he grasped at the bars. It took some effort but he managed to pry the mechanism open. He shone the light inside, grimacing at the muddy mess that lie on the bottom of the shaft. The elevator cabin wasn't there... it wasn't at the main floor either. Charlie turned the torch up then gulped. He wasn't sure, but he thought he could make out the bottom of the cabin far above.

That wasn't good, but he had hoped that if the elevator hasn't fallen until now, it might stay in place for a bit longer.

_'Unlike the staircase, right?'_ once again the tiny voice provided.

Charlie told it to shut up. It didn't want to, so Charlie did the next best thing. He tried to drown it out.

"Boss?" he shouted then waited.

Nothing.

Charlie swallowed, despair slowly taking back its place.

"Boss!"

"Lawson!" Bill added to the fray. If nothing else, they could let out all the frustration.

Nothing.

They shouted and cursed for a bit longer, until Charlie felt like his throat was turning raw. He had to take a break because his side was twitching something awful, ribs screaming in pain and lungs protesting the lack of air.

"LAWSON! Answer us you son of a bitch!" Hobart bellowed, obviously at the end of his wisps as well.

Charlie groaned, the torch wavering in his hand dangerously. He still kept shining it upwards in hopes Lawson would notice the light.

_"What the hell did you just call me?"_ came the somehow delayed answer.

Charlie blinked.

"Boss?" he called out, shakily. Then he cursed and brought a hand up to cover his eyes as a beam of light hit him in the face.

"In the flesh," Lawson called back. "You both alive down there?"

"Yeah," Charlie shouted, his lips twitching up in a smirk.

"Good! Stay that way and maybe you won't spend the next year on desk duty for cussing out your superior officer!"

Charlie couldn't help it.

He burst out laughing.

Next to him, Hobart grasped the bars of the elevator door and muttered 'Bloody bastard,' under his nose, but if anyone asked later on, Charlie would have sworn he heard him chuckle too.


	9. Chapter 9

The initial elation upon hearing Lawson's voice had abated slightly once they tried to figure out what to do next.

"I don't see any other option," Lawson called down to them a bit irritably. "If we don't use the rope, I'll have to go for help and that can take too much time."

Charlie was all for getting upstairs and out of this damned building, but the idea of climbing up the rope drove in the reality of their situation.

"How are we going to get Bill up? He can't climb the rope with that leg..."

Bill next to him froze, his jaw visibly clenching.

"I can stay here... until help arrives," Bill spoke, his voice cold and unemotional. But if Charlie learned anything in the last few hours it was that Bill had plenty of demons. Leaving him alone with them here would be akin to leaving someone trapped in their worst nightmare.

Charlie shook his head.

"No. We either both get out or I'm staying too."

Bill growled in protest.

"You could get help faster than Lawson if you get out," he hissed under his breath, though based on his tone, he wasn't trying to be too convincing.

Charlie bit the inside of his lips with consideration.

Under normal circumstances, yes. If it had been before their fall, he could most likely take off at a run and get to one of the closest farm or flag down a car on the road a bit further down. If he was lucky, he could get help back within few hours.

Trouble was, he did fall. And even though he was trying not to show his discomfort, lugging Hobart around did nothing to ease it. On the contrary. Charlie was starting to feel downright rotten and he knew that if he had to climb up that rope, he would be in no fit state to go running.

Hell, he was starting to doubt he could even manage the climb, but he wasn't about to voice that.

"That wouldn't do any good. If I go out for help, both you and the Boss would stay alone. One of you would be without light source and with an unknown enemy lurking around. That's... not ideal."

"Right. And what is your brilliant plan if we manage to get upstairs?" Hobart asked gruffly, though he seemed to be at least a tiny bit relieved over the fact he wouldn't have to stay here alone, without a torch. The mere idea of it was sending him into mild panic.

"I don't know," Charlie said with a sigh and looked up. Lawson had turned off the light to spare his batteries as well as not to blind them unnecessarily, but Charlie could sense he was peering down towards them. Charlie turned the torch upwards then shone it around so they could see the inside of the shaft properly. Perhaps there were some edges or rungs he might get hold of that would help in their way up?

"Great. So much for planning ahead," Bill said. Charlie felt himself bristling.

"What, you think any of this was planned? I still don't have a clue what the hell is going on, so no, I can't say what we will do upstairs. But I know I don't want to stay down here any longer."

Charlie kept his voice low, but Lawson still seemed to catch the argument.

"Stop bickering you two! I know you are enjoying the scenery down there, but I'd like to leave this joint and make sure my station is still in one piece."

Charlie and Bill exchanged a glance. Charlie had been so busy with their current situation that he had totally forgotten about Peter and the original call. Or the fact that it had been well over an hour without any radio communication and yet there didn't seem to be any help on the way. That was more than suspicious and Charlie felt a shiver of apprehension run through him. He couldn't help but think of Ned and what happened to him. He was fervently hoping that Peter didn't meet the same fate.

Seeing the frown on Hobart's face Charlie assumed he wasn't the only one replaying the events of the past. Somehow, that helped. Shaking off the memories, Charlie turned his face upwards.

"How long is that rope Boss?" he asked, hoping it was long enough to give them some leeway once he was upstairs. There was a plan forming in his head, but he didn't want to jump ahead.

There was a moment of silence as Lawson obviously tried to count the length. They heard a disgruntled curse.

"Look out!" Lawson warned only few seconds before Charlie saw something falling right at him. He stepped back, just as the end of the rope hit the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he was half expecting the other end of the rope to follow, but Lawson kept his hold on it.

"Bugger!" Bill cursed, startled as well.

"Did it reach you?" Lawson called and Charlie took hold of the rope.

"Yeah. It's all the way to the floor. How much do you have left?"

"About a meter," Lawson admitted gruffly and Charlie grimaced.

That wasn't a lot, especially not if they planned on pulling Bill out. But... it was something they could work with.

"That should do," Charlie said, not too enthusiastically.

"Yeah. But how are you planning on getting me up?" Bill reminded him of the main issue. Charlie grimaced.

"Boss, anything you can secure your end of the rope on?"

"Yeah. The elevator door post seems sturdy enough."

Charlie and Bill exchanged a glance.

"Sturdy enough?" Charlie mouthed, not having that much trust in those words.

"I'd be more worried about Lawson's knot, to be honest," Bill added with a smirk and Charlie blanched a bit more. If he went ahead with that, he would have to trust that the Boss tied the rope off well and that the post would hold. While usually he wouldn't doubt Lawson, he didn't have all that much belief in the building itself. For all he knew, the door post was rusty or cracked and it would break just as he was high enough for the landing to finish him off.

Of course, he couldn't really voice his fears, not in this company.

So he sighed.

"I can tie it up here, but I won't be able to pull the rope," Lawson shouted towards them.

Charlie had assumed as much.

"I'll... climb up," he said, hiding his hesitation.

"What about Bill?"

"We will pull him up once I'm there," Charlie said and this time he shot a questioning look at Bill. "Think you can handle that?"

Bill's frown deepened, but he gave a curt nod.

"Sure. If you can pull your ass up that rope, I can sure as hell let the two of you do the rest of the job."

Charlie snorted.

"Is it tied off, Boss?" Charlie called upwards. He felt the rope in his hands move a bit, so he waited until it stilled and Lawson shone the torch down, making a quick check of the shaft to see the situation.

" Ready," he called back.

Charlie gulped, thinking at least someone was. He felt far from ready, but he could hardly say that now. That would mean letting Lawson and Hobart down... just because of a few bruises. And a small dislike of heights. Yes, even since coming to Ballarat, Charlie didn't have the best experiences with heights. He had seen Blake climb onto towers and over railings of bridges too often for his comfort. Hell, he had seen what a fall from height made with the body when the guy was kicked off a plane. Not to mention, his body still throbbed from the experience of falling down with the whole flight of stairs. He might've blanked out on the details, but he very well remembered the feeling of his organs jumping to his throat in one moment. He didn't fancy a repeat so soon.

"What, you chickening out?" Hobart asked with a smirk. It didn't reach his eyes, but the tone was enough to get Charlie moving. He shook his head and handed Bill the torch.

"Here. You'll need it more than I," he grumbled then grasped the rope with both hands.

First, he gave it a few pulls, to check it would indeed handle his weight. He felt the resounding tug, but the rope held. There was absolutely nothing holding him back... except his own reservations.

"You changed your mind, Davis? If so, let me know and I'll head out to get some help." There was no hint of judgment in Lawson's voice, it was a genuine offer. Charlie squinted upwards, hit by the beam of light. Lawson obviously wasn't any more sure about this than him.

"No, stay. I... I'll be right up," Charlie said and without losing more time, moved his arms high above on the rope, then pulled his weight up.

For a second he just hung there, a foot or two above the ground, face smashed against the rope, eyes closed, and teeth clenched to stop the gasp of pain.

It stabbed through his left side, along his spine and up to his shoulder. He felt his arms shake just a bit and cold sweat once again rushed over him.

"Alright there Davis?" Hobart asked and it was the slightest hint of concern in his voice that made Charlie open his eyes and let out a grunt of 'yeah'.

"Wanna get moving then?"

All Charlie wanted was to show Bill the bird and crash on some horizontal surface. Instead he remembered the bonehead training and the physical tests they had to pass. Climbing a rope was somewhere among the disciplines and Charlie knew that what he was doing now was simple clinging. He needed to position his feet and use his legs, to take at least some weight off his shoulders.

The motion sent more painful throbs up through his chest as he had to move his waist and work the rope between his feet. Finally, he managed to get it in the right place to have some support. Taking in as deep a breath as he dared, he started moving upwards.

It was a slow and arduous climb. He had to pause every few feet to take a break and just breathe.

"Can't you use the wall to climb?" Bill asked when Charlie was only few feet high. Charlie paused. He looked at the rather smooth wall of the shaft. Except for the two rails on the sides used for the breaking mechanism there were no visible protrusions he could use for the climb.

He shot a questioning look at Bill.

"How?"

Bill rolled his eyes.

"Legs! Walk up the wall?"

Charlie blinked.

He realized what Bill meant, had seen the move in one of those action spy movies. On the screen it looked easy... in practice, not so much. Charlie tried to give it a shot, but he quite quickly came to the conclusion it won't work. Not with bruised or broken ribs. He barely raised his leg up half way when his side gave a loud protest and Charlie resumed his original position. Nope. The move would need him to use some body parts and muscles that just weren't up for it right now.

"Not working," he grunted towards Bill, deciding to ignore all further advices. None came though. It seemed that Bill caught on to his problem or simply didn't care about his speed anymore, knowing the sooner Charlie reached the top, the sooner would the same await him.

Charlie knew it was stupidly slow progress, which under other circumstance would bear ridicule from anyone nearby. Under the given situation though Charlie heard no ribbing or jeering, no words of judgment. He might've actually preferred those in some moments though. The silence filled with tension and palpable concern felt so much worse. All he could hear was his own gasping breath, the worrying creaking of the rope and the post it was tied to.

It was perhaps somewhere in the second third of his journey when Charlie made a wrong move. His side seized up, left leg jerking at the sudden pain. Charlie's whole body wanted to curl up into a ball but he was suspended on a rope some four meters in the air.

"Charlie? You alright?" Lawson asked from above and Charlie knew he must've made some sound to bring out that worried tone.

He wanted to nod and continue climbing, but he simply couldn't, not right away. He was glad his arms and legs still kept hold of the rope, though the white spots on the edge of his vision were becoming bothersome.

"Need a minute," Charlie grunted in reply.

He turned his face down when the beam of the torch was aimed at him.

"Take your time," Lawson said in a softer tone and Charlie huffed. A nice and worried Lawson always put him on the edge. He felt as if he was somehow failing the man by showing weakness, even though it was ridiculous. He was past the point of needing to prove himself. Still, that gnawing feeling in his stomach made him try and push through his own discomfort. He had to move, before his arms fell asleep and he plunged down right on top of Hobart. Now wouldn't that be just a fitting end to a crappy day.

Snorting, more in despair than amusement, Charlie resumed his slow crawl upwards.

He didn't dare to look up anymore. He worried that if he saw how little progress he made, his limbs would give up on their own volition. So it was a startling surprise when Charlie felt a hand grab at the back of his shirt and pull. He let out an undignified yelp, even as his hands slipped. He would have slipped down a few feet maybe but the hand had a solid grasp on his shirt. With a curse and a grunt, it stopped his sudden descent.

Charlie's hands grasped the rope so hard he felt it scrape against his palms painfully, his right giving a loud protest and reminding him it had already been through some abuse. None of that though could compare to the wild beat of his heart.

"Gotcha! Come on, move!" Lawson barked breathlessly and Charlie did just that. With Lawson's help, he heaved his body out of the shaft. It was clumsy and painful, but Charlie felt great accomplishment as he crashed down on the ground. Next to him, Lawson was also breathing heavily, sitting and leaning against the wall.

"Alright there Charlie?" he asked once his own pummelling heart slowed down to a more manageable level.

Charlie was still feeling shaky from the effort as well as the little scare, so he just nodded.

"Good. Take a moment... then we have to haul up Bill."

Charlie gave another nod then cleared his throat.

"Glad to see you too, Boss," he said in a shaky voice. It might've sounded as sarcasm, but Charlie meant it. He was happy to see Lawson.

His boss must've understood, because there was no scathing remark, just a pat on the leg and a relieved "Same here kid, same."

* * *

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just shoot your brain out?" the masked man asked, then added: "Or his." He nudged Peter, who took in a ragged breath, eyes widening.

Blake stood in place, forcing down the urge to pull the trigger of his own gun.

"Maybe because you wouldn't go far? Your companions have been taken care of and there are several armed officers in the hallway. I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate to shoot you on the spot."

The man seemed to mull that over as well. They were truly in a standoff, with poor Peter caught between them. Blake kept his arm taunt, the pistol aimed. If worse came to worst, he might try to hit the man in the shoulder. He risked clipping Peter or getting him killed if he wasn't fast enough however, so Blake filed that option as a last resort.

"Fucking newbies the lot of them, they always mess up," the man muttered under his breath.

Blake couldn't see his face, the mask had a cut out for lips and eyes though and it was enough to see the scowl. The man's eyes kept moving, from Blake to the door to the pile of files and the canister.

"You alright there Peter?" Blake asked, seeing the bloodstained face and slightly shaking form of the officer. Peter gulped and gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Y-yeah, D-" he started but stopped himself. Blake realized he wasn't sure if he could say his name. Probably a smart move.

"Shut up!" the man growled. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Peter stayed silent, though his left eye twitched. Blake clenched his teeth.

"I don't think anyone needs permission for that," he said, raising a brow. Perhaps if he could provoke the man, he might aim the weapon at him instead of Peter. Blake would have no trouble shooting him then. Of course, despite Blake's usually perfect track record of pissing people off, this one didn't seem to take the bait.

His mouth turned up in a sneer.

"Go ahead then, keep flapping your mouth. I might just get tired of it and pull the trigger."

"I think we already went over that. You do it and the next bullet goes right through your skull," Blake said, voice ice cold. He could hear movement in the hallway behind him and he was sure that the others were finally realizing he might just need some help. Though the situation didn't seem to be in his favour.

"What do you want to do?" he asked calmly. The masked man's eyes kept flickering towards the pile on the floor. It was a bit to the side of Blake, but he could see the files were damp and he could smell the gasoline in the air.

"I want to get the hell out," the man growled.

"I don't think that will happen. Even if you get through me... there are others waiting outside."

Blake was hoping he wasn't bluffing at this point. The noise he heard could have just as well been the bad guys somehow taking the upper hand. He still didn't know where Danny went or if he was alright. But he couldn't let the man in front of him realize that. If he felt trapped, perhaps he would give up. Lord, Blake hoped he would give up and not attack like a caged animal.

The masked man seemed to be thinking around similar lines. Blake could see he was nervous, his one free hand was twitching nervously and he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, as if ready to spring out. Blake recognized that and took a slow step to the side, so he was blocking off the possible escape route, or at least making it harder.

"Stop that!" the man snapped. "One step closer and I'll end this!"

"Alright, easy. Why don't we all calm down and think this through?"

"What the hell do you want to think through?"

"Your chances of leaving this place alive if you shoot Peter or me," Blake replied coldly.

The man snorted.

"Right. As opposed to what?" he asked and there was a hitch in his voice Blake didn't like. It sounded too much like desperation.

"We can talk about it. Figure something out. You... you haven't killed anyone yet. No one is seriously hurt..." Blake decided to ignore the little detail he had no clue where his friends were or if the others were uninjured. If he could just make the man let down his guard for a second...

He saw Peter wriggle in the chair, his eyes looking down pointedly. The masked man couldn't see as he was standing behind Peter, but Blake caught on the fact that the rope across Peter's chest seemed to be a bit... slack.

The cop might not have been in the best position and Blake didn't want him trying any heroics because he was right in the firing range, but he took note of the fact Peter seemed to be ready for taking action if needed. Blake gave a small nod. Peter's shoulders squared up slightly, while the masked man frowned.

"You really think I'm an idiot?" he hissed, his free hand burrowing into Peter's hair and pulling his head back. Peter let out a choked gasp of pain, face turned upwards to the ceiling as the hand was grasping painfully at his hair.

"Stop that!" Blake shouted, taking a step forward.

The man growled, releasing his grip but not before giving Peter a hard smack on the back of his head.

"Don't play with me you pig. You can't do a bloody thing!" he said, leaning down a bit.

Peter was breathing quickly but still found the strength to mutter something under his nose.

"What did you say?" the man asked with a growl and once again reached out to grasp Peter by the hair, so he could yank on his head.

Not this time though. Peter leaned forward to escape the touch. In doing so, the chair moved along with him. As soon as he realized that, he put weight on his feet and leaned over in one swift movement. The chair, still attached to him, went forward too, its legs smacking against flesh.

There was a startled oomph as the masked man was hit on his thighs, the hand holding the weapon slipping. A shot rang out but the bullet was wide, taking out a piece of wood from the chair, burrowing in the floor. Peter lost his footing and fell over, crashing to the floor as well and he proved an excellent target.

The second shot that rung out came from Blake's pistol.

It hit the masked man in the shoulder. He let out a howl of pain and the weapon clattered from his hand, to the floor. He clutched at his shoulder and stumbled backwards.

"Get down!" Blake shouted, pointing the man to lie down on the floor. "Peter? You alright?"

Peter let out a grunt and started scooting to the side, but was hampered by the chair and the rope, his hands still handcuffed in front of him.

"Stay still, give me a moment," Blake told him and tried to pass him by to get closer to the masked man who was now bent over near one of the desks.

"Show me your hands!" Blake ordered, not liking the fact he couldn't see what the man was doing. Was he clutching at his shoulder or grabbing for a hidden knife?

Blake got his answer soon enough.

"Turn around!" he shouted, his eyes scanning the floor for the fallen weapon. It had clattered under Lawson's desk, well out of reach. Blake filed it under details not to forget. Peter was now right behind him and the masked man was theoretically disarmed. He just needed to get him on the floor and see his hands then call for the others...

Things couldn't be that simple though.

There was a clicking sound and it took a second for Blake to identify it. He just knew it came from the hunched over masked man. Then he saw the man turn and something flickering fly through the air...

It landed on the pile of files.

"Bloody-" Blake didn't finish. The flame of the lighter blinked and in the next moment there was a strange hissing sound as the paper soaked in gasoline caught fire.

Suddenly the office wasn't dark anymore.

The flame grew quickly, lighting the room, almost blinding them.

Blake heard a scream and realized Peter was lying on the floor, only a meter from the pyre.

The masked man forgotten, Blake turned and lunged towards Peter. His eyes went wide as he saw a trail of wetness on the floor leading from the pile of files towards the can. He didn't know how much or if any of the gasoline was left inside, but he knew it was a danger nevertheless.

As the trail of wetness caught fire, Blake watched the flame rushing towards the can.

Peter was scrambling backwards, but he was too close and too slow.

Blake grasped at his ankles and the leg of the chair and pulled it along with Peter behind the closest desk. Not caring what happened to the masked man, he ducked behind the desk and leaned over Peter's form.

For what felt like several long seconds nothing happened and Blake was starting to feel like a fool.

A fool that might have just let a dangerous criminal escape or retrieve his weapon... Blake lifted his head to look around and check on the threat, when there was a crackle and a loud bang.

The desk they were hiding behind had smacked into them as the pressure from exploding canister hit it. There were pieces of the can flying through the air and Blake instinctively covered Peter. One shrapnel ended up in the floor, a foot or so from Blake's face. He looked at it with wide eyes.

There was a swoosh of fresh air and Blake realized the explosion must've smashed the windows. The added oxygen fuelled the fire and the office was swiftly covered in smoke.

"Hell!" he cursed and pushed up into a sitting position, trying to figure out their situation.

"Peter? You alright?" he asked, even as he peered out from behind the desk. He needed to know where the bloody bastard was but all he saw was the flickering orange and the smoke...

Something moved in a rush.

Blake aimed his weapon, ready to fire if the figure was lunging at them, but it went the other way. Towards the window!

Shit! Blake wanted to go after him, grab him before he could escape, but then he heard Peter's cough. He chanced a look back, to make sure the flames weren't reaching them yet and by the time he looked towards the window, the figure was gone.

He could hear someone shouting and the sound of a door opening, crashing against the wall.

"Blake! Peter!" It was Danny.

"Here!" Blake called out, then coughed. The smoke was getting thicker and he could feel the heat of the fire coming closer as well.

"Where? I can't see you!" Danny shouted and Blake grunted. His arms were working on the rope binding Peter to the chair and they were both trying to hold their breath as much as they could so as not to choke on the smoke.

"Lawson's desk!" Blake shouted then grabbed Peter's arm and pulled him into a sitting position. "You alright?"

Peter nodded, grimacing. He swayed woozily, using one hand to cover his face.

Blake blinked, his eyes were starting to burn. He still peeked from behind the desk to see the situation.

He could see Danny, or well, a familiar figure, standing near the entrance to the office. He had his face covered with his sleeve, trying to get around the fire. He looked soaking wet and Blake applauded that, but Blake could see that even if Danny made it towards them, it would be at a cost of some burns and chances were, they wouldn't be able to go back the same way.

"Stay back, Danny!" He called out, trying to come up with a better plan.

"I'm not leaving you there Doc!"

Blake grunted.

"Get the hell out Daniel!" he shouted, angry, then coughed. "We go through the window!" he said loudly, realizing the masked man at least had a good idea.

"You sure Doc?" Danny asked and Blake looked at Peter questioningly.

"Sounds good," Peter croaked and was already trying to get up to his feet.

"Yeah, the window. Get out, Danny. Call the fire brigade!"

They heard a muffled "Be careful!" then nothing but the crackling of the fire. Lawson's desk gave a creaky sound of protest as the wood was attacked by the licking flames and Blake thought it was a signal they should get moving.

Stumbling, they made it towards the window. There was still some glass around the edges, so Blake used his gun to nudge the pieces out. He didn't fancy having to deal with glass cuts on top of all else.

"You first," he said and helped Peter over the windowsill. It wasn't that high a jump, but it could still be tricky, especially with handcuffed hands. "Careful," Blake advised. Peter took only a second to look down then with an uttered curse jumped.

Blake leaned out and saw him roll on the floor, but even as he was looking, Peter was getting back up on his knees and turning towards the window.

"Your turn!" he called and Blake put a leg over the windowsill. He shot one last look at the office, his face scrunched up in a pained grimace. Even if the fire brigade arrived this moment, they wouldn't be able to save the office. Matthew would not be a happy camper.

But thoughts of Matthew twisted a knife in his gut. He didn't know where his friends were or if they were alright. He shouldn't mourn an office when there were people still in danger.

Turning his back towards the burning room, Blake jumped.

The landing was surprisingly smooth.

It hurt, rattling his bones and jarring his knees, but Blake managed to stay on his feet. Nothing was broken or even sprained. He would call it a win.

What put a wide smile on his face however, was the scene a few meters from him. There on the ground was the masked man, twitching and squirming, cussing up a storm. Cunningham was kneeling on his legs while Lewis was cuffing him. The mask was pulled off the face and Blake caught sight of spit and blood running down the sharp chin. Looked like the man had managed to bite on his tongue during the landing. Served him right.

Blake looked around, searching for Peter, wanting to make sure he was alright. He saw Danny running out from the building and he felt a rock drop from his shoulders as he saw the boy was in one piece, albeit somehow ruffed up.

"Danny!" he waved at him and headed towards Peter who was hobbling towards them. He expected the relieved hug from Danny as he reached them. He didn't expect Jean rushing over to him and wrapping him in a hug, at the same time smacking him on the shoulder.

"That was stupid and reckless and don't you dare to scare me like that again!" Jean was muttering into his shoulder, even as he was blinking in surprise and confusion.

"Jean? What are you doing here?"

"We couldn't leave you all the action now, could we?" came the reply and Blake turned a bit to see Rose approaching as well. She gave him a shaky wink then turned and her camera flashed.

"Well, I don't know where uncle Matthew is, but if no one called the fire brigade, there will be hell to pay."

"Danny? Did you-" Blake asked.

"Bollocks!" Danny cringed and took off at a run towards the nearest payphone.


	10. Chapter 10

Bill wasn't a patient man at the best of times. He found out that being stuck in an asylum with a broken leg and an occasionally flickering torch as his companion was far from the best times.

He watched nervously as Charlie painstakingly slowly climbed the rope. Bill had no idea how _he_ would fare. He cringed when he saw Davis falter for a second, grimaced at hearing the laborious breathing and occasional sound of pain as the man fought the gravity and his own injuries.

Bill was no fool. He knew Charlie was hurt during their little 'tumble' down the stairs, but seeing that the man wasn't actively bleeding or dying, he decided to ignore the fact. If he paid too much attention to his colleague, he would have found it harder to lean on him and then they would most likely still be stuck somewhere deep inside the corridors of this shithole.

Well, Bill was still stuck, but at least Charlie had made it up and there was all the better chance that Bill will soon follow him. He hoped.

Because there was no way he could stay in this hell hole, alone for several more hours and not succumb to the ghosts of the past.

It was hard enough seeing this place, what it used to represent. To Bill and to his mother. Fear and pain, a threat hanging over his head, nothing else. And seeing the treatment rooms...

Bill shuddered, his stomach flipping around. He would rather climb up the blasted rope inch by inch than stay here any longer.

He looked up the shaft and saw movement. Lawson's head leaned over the edge.

"You alright there Bill?"

Bill snorted. It was a stupid question.

"Peachy. Can I use the rope now?"

"Give us a minute. Charlie here had an idea and we need to untie this end so we can pull you up."

"What idea?" Bill asked with a frown. He wasn't sure he wanted to be testing out any ideas from Davis, especially not ones involving him hanging on a rope several meters above ground.

"Just a minute, Bill. Rest up till then," Lawson commanded and Bill growled. His heart skipped a beat and he had to stop himself from lunging ahead when he saw the rope was being pulled up, without him.

He knew it was irrational, but it felt as if he was being abandoned here with his demons.

Suddenly everything looked all the more threatening.

"Bloody bastards," Bill grumbled under his breath as he watched the rope vanish in the opening upstairs. His chest felt just a bit tighter at the sight. He wanted to keep looking, as if it could make Lawson and Davis work faster, as if even the sliver of light he saw above offered some kind of safety.

He couldn't.

There was that feeling, one he was trying to ignore for the last hour or so. The feeling of being watched.

Logically, he knew it was unlikely. There was no other way to get down here. If anyone was here, they would've had to been there before their arrival. Of course, that wasn't exactly impossible. And they didn't actually explore all the corridors, Bill reminded himself rather unhelpfully.

Cursing his own mind, Bill turned the torch down from the shaft, aiming it at the door from the locker rooms. It was closed, just like they left it. There were no shadows moving there.

No strange sounds either... only silence broken by a soft sound of voices far above. The light blinked and Bill almost let out a yelp. Instead, he gave a quick prayer. He would never admit it out loud, but in this moment he hoped there was actually someone up there listening to him. He just couldn't stay there in darkness. Even knowing that it was only few wobbly steps separating him from an utterly dark corridor sent chills down his spine.

He should have taken the few steps, to shine the torch down the hall and make sure it was empty. He should have found the courage and moved through the pain.

He couldn't.

Feeling the stabbing pain from his leg every time he so much as breathed shooting up into his knee and hip seemed like a good enough excuse. Even though he knew the pain had nothing on the fear that if he stepped there, he would actually come face to face with someone. Or some _thing._

Bill didn't believe in ghosts. But that didn't mean much. He didn't believe in people born as clean sheets and the society forming them either. According to Bill, folks were either bastards or not. But that didn't mean there weren't exceptions and if there could have been exceptions to one thing, why not the other?

Who was to say of all the poor souls that found their end in these halls and rooms not one decided to just... stick around?

Bill shook his head.

No, he couldn't think like that, or next thing he would see would be his mother's face.

Logically, he knew she wasn't here. She had died at home, not that it made things easier. Still, this place seemed to bring back memories in the worst possible way.

Bill just wanted out.

"How much longer?" he called upwards, not even trying to hide his anger and desperation.

"One moment. Watch out!" Lawson called back and Bill could see something long being thrown his way. He instinctively took a step backwards, rising his arms to protect his head. The thing stopped its descent a few feet above him, clanking against the wall of the shaft.

Bill gasped out from pain as his broken leg gave a protest and he almost fell to the dirty floor.

"Bloody hell!" he cursed, glaring upwards.

"Sorry," came the somehow apologetic shout from Davis.

Bill growled.

"Is it at your level?" he asked and Bill pointed the torch at the 'thing'.

He blinked.

"Is that your cane boss?"

"Yeah. Charlie thought it might be easier for you to use it as a seat... sort of."

Bill blinked again. The cane thumped against the wall once again as it was lowered a bit more. He reached for it and examined it. The cane seemed to be tied well to the rope in its middle. There was maybe a feet more of the rope dangling below. About a meter above the cane was a crudely made knot. Bill wasn't sure what it was supposed to be for.

"The knot is for easier grip if you need it," Davis called back down as if reading his mind. Bill kind of hated him for that.

"Great," he mumbled and grimaced. The 'seat' didn't seem to be too stable. He was sure it would require some balancing or he could easily slide off and plummet back down. But he supposed it might be a slightly more comfortable option to just tying the rope around his waist and hope he wouldn't slip through or accidentally hang himself. Bill was not good with knots.

He still didn't feel this was safe.

He was of half a mind to call at them to just leave and get some professional help. Preferably someone who knew what they were doing.

But that might mean hours and hours of waiting.

Alone... with the blinking torch.

Bill didn't even want to ponder the thought of the light going out at this point. He would most likely start whimpering like a little girl and hell if he allowed that to happen. Even falling to his death from a badly tied rope would be more acceptable to him. Especially if it would cause feelings of guilt and anguish to Davis and Lawson. The bastards deserved it. He was sure this whole mess was their fault anyway. Theirs and Blake's.

"Bill? Alright there?" Lawson asked and Bill realized he was standing there unmoving for far too long. He checked the cane once more, hoping it would be able to handle his weight.

"I need a bit more rope!" He called upwards and felt the rope lower a bit more. Once it was at the height of his thigh, he let them know.

Now came the tricky part and that was to move his legs over the cane. He tried lifting up his injured leg, knowing well he wouldn't be able to put weight on it. He managed to lift it only few inches then had to grab the rope for support as he stumbled, pain shooting up his leg. For a second he felt as if the lights had gone out and the ensuing panic gave him a rush of adrenaline. He blinked to see the torch working and heard cursing from the top.

"Damn it Bill, warn us! You almost pulled Davis down!"

Bill swallowed hard. It took him a second to find his voice but it was still a shaky 'Sorry' leaving his lips.

"Alright. Just... don't do it again. Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Bill said, even though he felt less and less sure of this plan. If him leaning on the rope almost pulled Davis down, how could he trust them to haul him up?

"If you need a break, let us know now. Or if you changed your mind."

These might've been words of care, but Bill felt as if Lawson just accused him of chickening out. He bristled.

"No, I am good. Give me a second!"

Bill knew that trying to get his leg up wasn't much of an option. But maybe he didn't have to. He tugged at the rope, just a few inches lower and manoeuvred the cane between his thighs. He was reminded of one hot summer, when as a haughty teen he and some of his pals enjoyed a few days away from everyone on a camping trip. It involved lots of booze, some hitchhiking and a day at a lake. There was a huge tree and a rope. At the end of it was a small plank. While it had the rope pulled through a hole in the middle and tied off with a much safer looking knot, the principle was the same.

Bill put the cane between his legs and positioned it so he had some support. Once he felt that he was well balanced, he grabbed at the knot that was now right in front of his face.

Now all he needed was to decide which way he wanted to be facing. If he would face the wall, he might perhaps help somehow, grabbing at whatever ledges there were and heaving himself up by his arms. The downside of this was that he would basically be dragged up the wall, with his legs bumping into it. He doubted he would be able to hold onto the rope or even consciousness if that was the case. He would rather risk a bruised back and cling to the rope with all his might.

Who cared if that meant putting all his trust in the hands of the two men above.

Swallowing down his fear, Bill turned around. At this moment it meant opening his back to the elevator entrance and towards the dark hallway.

Chills ran down his spine as he put the torch behind his belt, knowing he would need both hands to hold on.

That meant his only light source was now shining down at a weird angle, because Lawson also put his torch down to grab the rope.

Bill cleared his throat and with the barest of fear called out.

"Ready!"

For a second nothing happened and Bill felt the crawling worry that something went wrong and he was alone. Then he felt a tug on the rope.

"Hold on!"

Bill hissed. The rope moved and the cane had pressed against his buttocks rather uncomfortably as he was swept off his feet. At first, his broken leg felt a momentary relief of being absolved of the weight of his body. The pull of gravity however wasn't any kinder. The rope jerked then came to a halt.

Bill knew he couldn't be more than a meter above the ground.

"What's wrong?" He shouted, his voice cracking. He was hanging in the air, in the dark, his legs essentially swinging by the lift entrance. One leg was throbbing with pain, the other feeling strangely numb.

He couldn't help it, he felt like a kid again.

Like that five year old boy, being scared of sleeping with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed because something might reach out and pull him under.

That was the feeling he had now... as if any second something would grab his ankle, burrow its nails into it and pull.

He could almost feel the touch. Was that someone breathing he was hearing? Was it someone else's heart beating so loud?

The rope jerked and Bill yelped in startle, expecting to fall down. But the movement was different. He was going up.

He was clinging to the knot on the rope so hard at moments he wasn't even touching the cane.

It was a dreadfully slow and painful climb. He was somewhere in the middle of it when all the movement managed to dislodge the torch from his belt.

Bill had the presence of mind not to try and catch it, but he let out a surprised gasp as it hit the floor. It didn't stop shining.

"Bill?!" A panicked voice of his boss called down upon hearing the crash. The rope paused.

"I am fine, just the torch! Keep... keep pulling!" Bill called back and was relieved when the rope started moving again. Even more so as he squinted down. The torch was aimed towards the entrance.

Bill wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a shadow move. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. As he looked the second time, the torch blinked and died.

Bill could've sworn in that moment he saw the shadow reach out towards him.

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth to stop himself from screaming.

He kept his eyes closed until he felt a draft of air on his back then a hand grabbing his shoulder.

He let out a yelp then, although he would never admit it.

Another hand grabbed the rope just above his hands and soon Bill was hauled backwards. He was still clenching the rope as both he and his rescuer came crashing to the floor, breaths heavy and loud.

It was then that Bill really took in the image of Lawson, lying on the floor next to him and Davis, crumpled not far away. He still had some scraps of a shirt tied around his hands, probably for a better grip.

In that moment, Bill didn't care what happened in the past between them. If his body would have allowed, he would have hugged both men right where they were.

Fortunately, his body was protesting the mere idea and Bill was spared the future embarrassment. He still managed a raspy "Thanks," to both of them at least.

Lawson nodded while Davis grumbled back something sounding suspiciously like "You need to lose weight!"

Bill decided he would give the man a pass on that. Or have a worthy come back as soon as his heart calmed down.

Which might be never it seemed.

It took Bill a while to notice through the thudding in his temples that there was some strange buzzing sound. At first he thought it might be just the ringing in his ears. But then he saw that Lawson's head shot up as well and all three of them went still.

The sound was now clear... the engine of a car.

Not one car even, but at least two.

The engines stopped, there was the slamming of the doors and hushed male voices.

Bill struggled to get himself into a sitting position, Lawson managing to get up on his feet.

Without a sound, he turned off the torch, leaving them all in sudden darkness.

Bill didn't mind.

All he focused on was the sound of someone approaching. The rattle of the door as it creaked open...

Lawson turned on the torch just as a shadow appeared in the door, effectively blinding the intruder.

"Oh, you got to be kidding!" Lawson said exasperatedly. Bill squinted at the figure and let out a groan of disbelief. Really. It felt as if fate itself decided to play tricks on them tonight. Or someone had a very crude sense of humour.

* * *

Blake and the others could only watch. Perhaps they might've had saved the office from the flames or at least mitigated the damage if they found more fire extinguishers and used some water buckets, but they had more pressing matters at hand. Namely several injured people, two still partially drunk prisoners and of course the men that attacked the station.

Before the help arrived though, Blake had put his attention to making sure everyone injured was out of danger. With Jean's help, he moved Peter across the parking lot, further away from the police station, towards the parked cars. He gave him a quick once over, making sure he wasn't hurt too seriously. Fortunately, it looked like his worst injury was the head wound and perhaps a sprained ankle from a bad landing.

Blake wanted to start asking questions, try to figure out what really happened and what he knew about the location of Matthew and Charlie, but before he could do that, Danny grabbed his arm, returning from the call.

"The brigade will be there in few minutes. Doc... there are several injured folks inside. We should get them out in case the fire gets out of control," Danny shot a worried look towards the station.

Lewis was also eyeing it worriedly, one arm covering his nose, while the other was still pressed against the handcuffed arms of the attacker who was pinned to the ground. Blake noticed that Cunningham was gone.

"Alright, you two-" he looked pointedly at Rose and Jean. "I want you to stay outside. And I mean it this time!" he added with a frown. Jean raised a brow in a silent challenge and he gave her a peck on the cheek.

"Please," he muttered into her ear and pulled back. "I don't want you near that fire, in case there are more petrol cans lying around." When he saw she was about to protest, he raised a hand.

"I also need your help here. We will be bringing everyone out here... it's the best place for an ambulance too. Can one of you call the hospital to send at least two cars?"

Rose sighed, but nodded.

"I'll go," she rushed off.

"Can you keep an eye on Peter here, make sure he doesn't fall asleep?"

"I'm fine!" Peter protested, even though he was squinting against the light coming from the fire. Jean just nodded, giving a pat to Blake's shoulder, seeing that Danny was already halfway back inside the building.

"Just be careful," she said and Blake gave her a thankful smile before following Danny inside.

He paused at the corridor. There was dark smoke coming from underneath the office door and he could feel the heat, although no flames yet. He had to go past that to get deeper into the building. He thought that perhaps they would have to revise their plan and bring anyone else out through the front door.

"Danny?" he called out, trying to locate his wayward friend.

"Over here Doc!" Danny called and Blake followed him towards the main hall where he last saw the three other attackers. To his relief, the men were still down, handcuffed and being held at gunpoint by Jamieson. Danny was there too, pulling the attacker that was shot in the shoulder up rather gruffly. Instead of outside however, he was dragging him the opposite way.

"Danny? Where are you going?" Blake inquired worriedly.

"Cells. The fire won't get there and I want these scumbags secured. Once backup arrives, they can call in a doc for them or something. I don't care," he uttered in a growl, ignoring the pained grunts from his prisoner. Blake raised a brow but didn't comment. He wasn't sure what transpired during Danny's solo action, but based on the bruise colouring his face and the anger still simmering just under the surface, he had reason to be angry.

Blake looked at the other two prisoners, handcuffed together. Jamieson looked up at him.

"Can we move them, Dr. Blake?" the man asked, mostly from medical perspective. He didn't seem to have any arguments against Danny's unilateral decision, even though he wasn't technically working here anymore.

Blake nodded.

"Sure. Anything will be better than leaving them here and risking more trouble," he muttered and with Jamieson's help they each grabbed a man by an arm and pulled them up. While the one with the wounded leg was still unconscious, the one in the uniform was wide awake. He cursed at the movement but didn't attempt to fight back and escape.

Good, Blake thought. He wasn't sure he would use any consideration for his health in such an attempt.

They didn't even make it half way to the cells when they heard Danny speak in a much softer tone.

"Alright there mate?" he asked and as they turned the corner, Blake saw another figure slumped on the floor. The man was in some ill fitting clothes and covered in bruises and blood, barely holding onto consciousness. For a second Blake thought it was another of the attackers, but that didn't fit well with Danny's tone as he practically showed his prisoner against the wall several feet away, ignoring his yelp of pain.

The figure on the ground muttered something then spat out a wad of blood, grimacing.

"Shit. Kelly?" It was Jamieson who recognized his colleague. Blake grimaced, torn on whether he should go offer some help to Kelly or finish dragging the attacker into the cell.

"Help him, Doc," Jamieson said, pushing their prisoners to the ground, freeing Blake up.

Blake went over to Kelly and started checking him out. He didn't notice when Danny left with his prisoner, only to reappear a moment later with Cunningham by his side. Jamieson and Cunningham took the other two prisoners to the cells while Danny stayed by Blake's side.

Kelly was in bad shape, Blake could tell. While the man had suffered many bruises and contusions, what was the most worrying was the head injury. It seemed that they didn't spare him any abuse and Kelly was slipping in and out of consciousness. Blake was trying to stem the bleeding of the head wound while at the same time keep Kelly awake, but it was a futile battle. The man needed an x-ray and quite likely surgery.

"Doc? Anything I can do?" Danny asked, watching worriedly as Kelly muttered something about too many salmons in the sea.

"Is there anyone else hurt?" Blake asked nervously. He wasn't sure how many ambulances the hospital sent out and he was trying to remember who had the night shift at the hospital and whether they would require additional help. While under different circumstances he wouldn't hesitate to offer his services and follow up about Kelly and Peter, right now they still needed to find out what happened to Matthew, Charlie and possibly Bill. The men could be in danger themselves, hurt or worse... Blake couldn't just ignore that.

"Uh... there is one other attacker. Jean nailed him good with a fire extinguisher, but the bastard deserved it. I wouldn't be losing time with him," Danny said in an uncharacteristically cold tone. Blake shot him a questioning look but Danny just shook his head, obviously not in the mood to talk.

"There are two other guys locked up, I think they're both drunk. We moved them into one cell. They are mostly fine, though one of them has a messed up finger. He's complaining to all hell, but doesn't seem to be in any danger."

Blake grimaced.

"You locked up the other three in one cell?"

"Two cells and there's four of them. The fifth one is outside with Lewis, if the man didn't let him run away."

Blake shuddered. Jean and Rose were outside. He hoped to hell that Lewis wasn't as incompetent as he seemed.

"Alright. I think our priorities are to get Kelly to the hospital, make sure those bastards are secured and then find out where are the others."

Danny nodded. As if in agreement of that plan, they could hear the sound of sirens approaching.

"Finally," Danny said with relief and Blake couldn't but agree.

The fire brigade did a quick job. Fortunately, Danny had slammed the door on the office closed and the fire didn't spread outside of the room. The window and the wall around it were charred with dark smoke billowing out and the door had caught on fire but by that time the fire engine arrived. Several burly men pulled up a hose and handled the situation.

It was a sort of controlled chaos as the fire brigade helped to clear out the building. They got into a bit of a tiff with Danny and Cunningham when they didn't like the fact there were people locked up in the cells, but when neither cop stepped down, the fire brigade captain shrugged and decided he had better things to do. The fire had been mostly under control and seeing the injured man on the floor was about to be moved to the stretcher, the captain let it go.

During all of that, Blake tried to keep Kelly awake and at the same time attempted to gain some information. Unfortunately, Kelly couldn't tell him much. He remembered Lawson and Charlie leaving, but that was about it. Where they went or what happened afterwards was unknown to him.

This left them either with interrogating the prisoners or talking to Peter. Blake decided that Peter might be a better source and he wanted to check on him anyways. He watched as Kelly was put into an ambulance then walked around the building to the back of the station. The fire was mostly under control by then and there were several curious onlookers from the nearby buildings. Fortunately, it was quite late at night and most people were at home sleeping. Blake didn't think Lawson would appreciate all the gawkers. Several policemen started trickling in as Lewis had settled in one of the undamaged offices and started calling around.

"Let's find out where the others went, shall we?" Blake said as he passed by Danny, who was just filling in one of the newcomers.

"About time," Danny noted as he gave a pat to the officers shoulder. "If you can, leave someone by the cells on guard, will you?"

The officer nodded and went off.

"Any reason why you are soaking wet and smelling of gasoline?" Blake asked as they were walking towards the parking lot. He originally thought that Danny poured some water on himself to get protection from the flames, but then Blake realized there was hardly time for that between the flames going up and Danny's arrival. The smell covering the young man was more telling than anything.

Danny shrugged, a somehow sheepish look on his face.

"Got a bit doused with gasoline. I didn't want to risk catching flames because someone throws a match."

Blake shot him a look of disbelief.

"You realize that water wouldn't have helped had you barged into the office when it was on fire?"

Danny shrugged, a smirk on his face.

"Good thing then that I didn't, right?"

Blake fought down the urge to strangle the man for his recklessness. He was sure Jean would have a word to say about that though.

"Good thing indeed," he said with a resigned sigh.

Blake and Danny found Peter where they left him. Jean had managed to find some clean towel and was helping Peter to hold it against the wound, while talking to him gently. Blake looked around, frowning when he didn't see Rose right away.

"Rose went inside with the fire fighters to take some shots," Jean said when she noted his look.

Blake raised a brow. He would have thought her worry about Lawson and Charlie would overcome her thirst for a good article, but it seemed Rose could be a professional under any circumstances.

"It's not like she was any good here," Jean commented.

That wasn't what Blake wanted to hear. He squatted down next to the half conscious officer and tapped his face gently.

"Peter? How are you doing here?"

Peter blinked as if waking up from a dream. He looked a bit lost and confused.

"Dr. Blake?" he asked, as if surprised by his presence. Blake grimaced, seeing the confusion. He hoped it was mostly just the result of the stress and the fact the threat was over and not a sign of a serious concussion or brain damage.

"Yes, it's me. Do you remember what happened, Peter?"

Peter's eyes shot towards the broken window of the office and he frowned, then his eyes cleared some. He cursed.

"We... we were taken over," he said with a groan and leaned his head back against the car. "God, the superintendent will kill us..."

His eyes shot wide open.

"Bloody hell! Lawson!"

Peter tried to get up but the motion made him dizzy and Blake pushed him back down.

"Yes, Lawson. Can you tell us where he is?"

"And if Davis was with him?" Danny added helpfully.

"Uh... I think so? They... they left together I think," Peter said, although he didn't sound too sure.

"Did they leave before these men arrived?" Blake asked the question that bothered him the most. If they left earlier then they might be fine...

"Yes, they... they left shortly before. The boss wanted to get home earlier but... he was delayed. I know he wasn't happy about that," Peter said, forehead scrunched as he was trying to put everything together. His face had pulled into a grimace and as he looked up at Blake, his eyes filled with regret.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but I had no choice. They had a gun to my head, I... I didn't want to die," he started babbling and Blake put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Hey, it's alright. Whatever happened, just tell us."

"The man... he wanted me to make a fake call. On the radio. It... it was supposed to be Hobart, no one else. I swear I didn't know the Boss took the car with the radio. I wouldn't have... I tried to warn him. I did!" Peter was becoming more and more agitated and Blake knew he should try to calm him down and cease the questioning, but with every word his worry about his friends grew.

"Slow down. Deep breaths..." he waited for a moment until Peter followed the order, all the while seemingly trying to formulate what was on his mind.

"Good. Now... where are Matthew, Charlie and Bill?"

So Peter told them.

There was momentary silence and several confused looks all around.

"So... you sent them on a false call... to an abandoned asylum?" Danny repeated what he heard.

"Was the call false? I hope there is no missing child involved in all of this!" Jean retorted worriedly.

"I'm pretty sure it was fake," Peter said, his face paling. "I... I think it was a trap. They... they didn't call back."

Blake ran a hand over his beard, thinking.

"That was what... two-three hours ago?"

Peter blinked.

"Was it just three hours?" he wondered out loud.

"Maybe a bit more," Blake waved it off. "So total radio silence? No call for help?"

"No, nothing. The man... he didn't seem... bothered."

That wasn't good. That meant it was definitely a trap and it was more than likely that there was someone else working with the men. But Peter wouldn't be the one to have the answers.

"Anything else you think can help us?" Blake asked and when Peter gave a soft shake of head and a barely audible apology, Blake patted his shoulder.

"It's alright. You did all you could. We will find out what happened to the others."

With that, he flagged down an orderly from the ambulance that had Kelly on board. With his help they got Peter into the passenger seat and the first ambulance was off to the hospital. The second ambulance stood waiting, while the orderlies were bringing out a stretcher with the attacker who had been stabbed in the leg. Blake headed towards them, intent on asking the man some questions, but he was unconscious.

Blake and Danny re-entered the building. The other man, the one Cunningham managed to shot in the shoulder, was being led out of the cells as well, staggering and cursing all the way. Blake and Danny headed right towards him. Before Blake could as much as raise a finger, Danny grabbed the man and slammed him against the wall.

He let out a yelp of pain and a barrage of curses.

"Shut up, or I'll do much worse," Danny growled threateningly. Blake was almost impressed. Sure, Matthew might be pissed later when he saw the smear of blood on the wall, but that was a matter for another day.

"What the hell Parks?" Jamieson asked in surprise, though he didn't make any effort to stop him.

"What was the plan, huh? At the asylum. What was the plan?"

"Lemme go, you fucking pig! I won't say a damn word to the likes of you!" the man spat then grunted as Danny drove a fist into his side. Blake reached out. It was one thing to question the man, another to beat him up.

"Who else is working with you?" Danny pressed on.

The man laughed.

"What don't you understand, cop? I'm not talking to you!"

"Oh. Playing hard to get? Well, maybe you don't need to see a doctor after all. Maybe a day or two in the cell won't hurt you any!" Danny said angrily, turning the man and showing him back towards the cells.

"What? No! You fuckers shot me... I need a bloody doc!" the man started to protest.

"And I need bloody answers!" Danny shouted as he slammed him against the wall once again.

"Danny!" Blake didn't want to, but he had to stop this. He couldn't in good conscience look on to torture, however much he would have liked to kick the snot out of the man himself.

"If you have a problem Doc, turn around," Danny growled. Blake shot a questioning look at Jamieson, but the man just shrugged. He didn't seem inclined to offer any help.

Blake grunted.

"Alright then. I'll be outside, getting the car ready. We don't have all night, so don't keep long," he said and without another word turned and left. He could hear a few grunts from behind him but there was no screaming and however angry Danny looked, Blake knew the boy. He would threaten and push, but he wasn't one to do serious body harm. Or well, he didn't use to be that kind of a cop before. Blake couldn't be sure whether working in Melbourne had changed him or not, but the kid still had his heart in the right place.

On his way out he ran into Rose. Quite literally. They bumped into each other, Rose yelping and protectively grabbing at her precious camera, while Blake put out a steadying hand.

"Everything alright Rose?" he asked, blocking her way. He wasn't about to let her go down the hall and bump into Danny and their prisoner.

"No, nothing is right! The fire brigade captain kicked me out. I tried to get to the cells and find out where is Charlie and uncle Matthew, but some snot nosed officer kicked me out as well! And now I can't even find Peter or Danny and-"

"Whoa, it's alright. We know where they are."

"You do?" she blinked. "Well? Where?" she asked when Blake didn't seem to come forth with the answer.

Blake, starkly reminded of the fact that Rose and Jean had left the house and put themselves into a dangerous situation, decided that this time he won't be as straightforward.

"I'll let you know... as soon as we find them."

Rose spluttered.

"You can't just keep it to yourself! I have a right to know where's my uncle and Charlie!"

Blake nodded.

"Yes. But we don't know what's the situation there and I very much doubt Matthew would thank me for endangering you in any way. Even your presence at the station is rather unfortunate."

"Well, Danny didn't seem to mind when we saved his ass!" she recounted fiercely.

Blake raised a brow, not sure what she was talking about. He had a feeling it might've had something with Danny being wet and Jean brandishing a fire extinguisher. He would love to hear the story behind it, but this was not the place or time. He heard a pained grunt and a whiny voice coming from the corridor down below. Rose turned there, her eyes squinting in suspicion. Blake sighed, taking hold of her arm and nudging her outside.

"I think it's best if you wait here, Rose. I don't want to see you following us, do you understand?"

Rose's face hardened and he could see that familiar pout combined with determination. He sighed.

"Rose, please. Do it for my sake if nothing else?"

"I don't know what you mean, Lucien."

"I'd rather not face Matthew if something was to happen to you, that's all. Not to mention Charlie. The lad is rather fond of you still."

Rose blinked, clearly thrown and Blake's lips twitched. Fortunately, he was saved from a barrage of new questions by Danny appearing behind him. Blake turned and saw that the shot man was being led towards the ambulance, not much worse for wear, except for a freshly bleeding lip. He sighed.

"Learned anything useful?"

Danny shook his head, frustrated.

"He's just the driver. The ring leader is the only one who knew of the whole plan, but it would take too much time to make him talk. I thought we better risk it than lose time here."

Blake nodded, agreeing with that sentiment.

"Got any good pictures?" Danny asked Rose with a smirk. She gave him a stink eye, checking her camera then shooting a glare at Blake.

Then suddenly she seemed to realize something and changed her tune. She stepped up towards Danny and gave him an innocent, pleading look.

"Where's uncle Matthew?"

Danny blinked, obviously taken aback. She was too close in his personal space and Blake could see Danny's nostrils flaring as he caught the smell of her perfume.

Blake rolled his eyes and when Danny shot him a questioning look, he gave a slight shake of a head.

Danny sighed, but understood.

"I'm sorry, that's not an information I am allowed to give you."

She pouted and Blake could see she was about ready to use some of her acting skills. He would've chuckled, sat back and watched the show, but they had no time for that. He saw Jean approaching and in a momentary urge grabbed her, pulling her into his embrace. She seemed taken aback but relaxed into his arms, returning the hug.

"I meant it when I said I want you safe," Blake muttered into her ear while Rose was trying to pry some information out of Danny.

Jean seemed to understand at least. She sighed and nodded. However much she wanted to help, she understood that at this point they would be more of a distraction than help.

Still, there were things she wanted to share as well.

"I want the same for you. Stay safe?"

Blake's lips twitched in a smile.

"For you? Always."

She snorted and he knew she just had a ton of things to add, but they heard a yelp and turned to see Danny putting Rose physically aside, out of his way.

"Enough. While I enjoyed the show, we need to move," he said, looking at Blake.

"Is someone coming with you?" Jean asked, always the practical one.

"Yeah, Cunningham should be joining us. He will take one of the cars with the radio so we can call help if needed."

"Good thinking," Blake said, glad that they wouldn't be going without any form of backup. Jean and Rose glared though.

"Just one cop?"

"Well, there's not that many around and I'd rather they make sure the situation is under control here," Danny said. "Don't worry. We are not going unarmed," he said and pulled a revolver from his pocket. "There was a safe in the evidence room they didn't manage to get in, holding some spare weapons and ammunition. Cunningham knew the combination. Here are some spare bullets for you, Doc," he said and handed Blake a small box. Blake wasn't happy about it, but took it, knowing it might just get some use.

"Alright. Let's head out," he said and then with one last admonishment to Rose and Jean about staying put, they headed for Blake's car. Danny waved as he saw Cunningham coming out of the station and the man gave them a nod before heading towards one of the police cars as well.

They waited a minute and Blake watched Rose talking to Jean fiercely. She seemed sprung and ready to go, heading towards where he assumed she had parked.

"Damn. I swear, if they will follow us again," Blake grunted. He was surprised when Danny let out an amused chuckle.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I just doubt they will have much luck with that. Not unless Rose knows how to hotwire her car," Danny said as he held out a pair of car keys.

Blake blinked.

"How..."

Danny shrugged.

"I swiped the keys when she was trying to sweet talk me," he admitted and Blake laughed.

"Talk about playing the player," he said with a smirk. There was a honk of a horn and a police car passed them. Blake turned on the engine and followed. He saw Rose in the back mirror, rushing down the street. He felt a twinge of remorse for his wife, but pushed it back. If anyone knew how to handle Rose, it would be Jean.

* * *

Jean didn't want to handle Rose. Or better said, she was of half a mind to follow the girl and make sure her husband and Danny didn't get into any more trouble. She also wanted to be there for Matthew and Charlie and bring them home, hopefully unharmed.

When Rose hopped into her car, Jean followed suit, unsure of what she would do. Lucien asked her to stay behind but she wanted nothing more than to go against his wish. Didn't the man know she could handle herself?

"Where... bloody hell!" Rose smacked the steering wheel and Jean startled, looking at her with surprise.

"What's the problem?" she asked, a bit taken aback by the rage on Rose's face.

"I'm going to kill him. I swear, if he survives this, I'm going to kill him!"

"Rose!" Jean yelped, unaccustomed to such theatrics from her friend. "What on earth is the matter? And why aren't you starting the car? They are already off the street."

Rose grimaced, slamming the wheel once again then shooting Jean a look of defeat.

"He took my keys."

Jean blinked, not expecting that answer.

"Who did?" she had her suspicion, but wanted to make sure it wasn't her husband Rose was planning to murder.

"Danny! That stubborn, foolish, misogynist idiot-"

"Rose!" Jean halted her mid tirade. "You're still talking about my best friend's son," she reminded her with somehow of a smirk.

Rose had the decency to look sheepish, but the embarrassment was swiftly chased away by the rage.

"It was such an unbelievable jerk of a move still!" she let out then leaned back against the seat.

Jean didn't disagree on that. She just sighed and patted Rose on the arm in commiseration.

"I know," she said gently and although she felt a simmer of anger at Danny as well, for trying to keep them back, she couldn't but admire his sneakiness. Not that she would say it out loud and the boy had some things to fix in his future, though she would most likely leave the berating to Rose. By the looks of it she was already building up some steam.

"You do know..." Rose suddenly turned to Jean. "You were there, weren't you? You know where they are heading! Come on, we can ask one of the officers for a ride or I can call a cab and we can still get there in time-" Rose grabbed Jean's arm and was basically pulling her out of the car, but Jean stayed in the seat, halting her movement.

"In time for what?" Jean asked calmly.

Rose frowned.

"To help them!"

"Didn't we already?"

Rose looked at her confused.

"Yes! And that's exactly why we need to follow them! They need our help!"

Jean shook her head.

"I think we would be more of a distraction this time... especially if they don't expect us there."

"But-"

"No. Lucien asked me to keep you out of harm's way. What happened at the station... it could've turned out so much worse. I don't think Matthew or Charlie would forgive me if I let you rush after them and get hurt."

Rose stared at her in utter disbelief.

"But... we came here!" she spluttered, suddenly unable to find the arguments. She looked betrayed, angry. Jean felt for her. She also felt something else. Worry about what they might find if they actually followed. The scene at the station was horrid enough, but they had no idea what trouble lay in wait for Matthew and Charlie. Last thing she wanted was to lead Rose to the asylum, only for her to see her uncle or ex-boyfriend hurt or dying.

She knew these were morbid thoughts, but she couldn't stop them. Not since she learned about where they were. The asylum... just the thought about that place made her skin crawl. She had visited it once after it was closed, on a dare with her friends on one moonlit night. Never again did she want to set foot in that place.

So she kept quiet and sat still.

Rose looked out through the front window to see that both ambulances were gone, even the fire brigade was packing things up, the fire dead, building secured.

She had no one to ask and even if she did... would she truly be more of a distraction than help?

Jean could see all of these thoughts playing across her face and she sympathized with her.

"What are we supposed to do then?" Rose asked after a moment, when she managed to unclench her jaw.

"Wait and pick up the pieces if needed," Jean replied.

"Oh, I will give them a piece of my mind!" Rose grumbled, leaning back in the seat. Jean could see her mind was already spinning, planning and she couldn't help but smile. Oh yes, Danny will be in for one good tongue lashing.


	11. Chapter 11

The ride didn't take all that long, considering. Cunningham lead the way for a bit but the man seemed to get lost at one of the crossroads on the edges of the town, so Blake drove up in front of him and took over. He wasn't usually much of a fast driver, but he felt the need to reach the place as soon as possible. Something in his gut was telling him that time might be off essence and that his friends were still in danger.

He didn't know if it was his sixth sense or just the common one. After what Peter told them, he was trying to figure out what kind of danger may lay ahead. Logically, this was a trap. But was the trap set just to lure any possible cops out of town and keep them from the station? Or was the plan to kill them?

Blake didn't know and couldn't even guess, seeing as the perpetrators were ready to set the police station on fire, while there were several people inside. In view of that, killing a couple more cops didn't seem like such a preposterous idea. Blake hoped he was wrong.

So he found himself stepping on the gas more and more, ignoring Danny's paling complexion and the occasional thud the car gave as it ran over a rock or some other obstacle. He only slowed down when they turned onto the private road to the asylum. The road wasn't taken care of and he didn't want to risk crashing the car needlessly in his hurry. There was also the possibility that someone was lurking around, waiting.

He wondered if perhaps he should turn down the car lights, but realized the engine would be heard anyways. If there was any enemy, they would be warned of their approach already and they could use all the light there was to get a read on the situation.

He expected a lot of things as he pulled in front of the building. Seeing two police cars parked in front of it, without occupants or signs of struggle, wasn't one of them.

Blake and Danny shared a concerned look. Blake's hand moved to the weapon on his side, its weight offering surprisingly little comfort. Danny seemed to do the same, before he reached into the front compartment and pulled out a torch.

"Good idea," Blake said. "Ready to find our missing guys?"

"Sure. Let's save their assess, cause someone will need to deal with the mess at the station and it won't be me."

Blake cringed at the reminder of the station. He sure didn't want to be the one to explain it to Lawson.

They stepped out of the car, followed by Cunningham. The man caught up to them.

"Any news on the radio?" Danny asked in a hushed voice.

Cunningham shook his head.

"It's radio silence, until we find out what's going on here," Cunningham said and Blake nodded appreciatively.

"Good idea."

"Now then... where is everyone?"

He wasn't expecting a welcome banner but he thought there would be some sign of where they went. Though as long as there were no signs of blood or fight, Blake thought the situation still didn't have to be too bad.

"Well... this might explain why they didn't return home," Danny said with a grunt as the light of the torch passed the front wheel of one of the cars. It was slashed and out of air. A quick check of the other tires showed the same result.

Blake grimaced, shooting a nervous look towards their own cars. He couldn't see anyone around, but it was dark and chances were someone might be lurking in the bushes.

There was no movement, no sound, except of the usual sounds of night-time fauna.

While Cunningham was circling the car further up, Danny checking the tires and then the ground around the car, looking for blood or footprints, Blake decided to take a peek inside the car.

From the outside it looked like everything was intact, the cabin's empty. As soon as he opened the driver's door though... Blake let out a curse.

"And this explains why they went silent," he said, nodding at the smashed radio when Danny peered around his shoulder.

"Bloody hell!" He cursed. When Cunningham indicated that the other radio was smashed as well, Blake nodded at him to come closer.

"What now?" Danny asked, shooting an apprehensive look at the building looming in front of them. It was clear what they would have to do, but he had absolutely no desire to do it.

"We need to go inside," Blake voiced what neither of them wanted to hear.

"Yeah, but if we all go, what's to stop whomever did this to destroy our cars too and trap us here?"

Cunningham was right.

"One of us will need to stay here, guard the police car. If nothing else, we need to keep the radio working so we can call in help. I don't think radio silence is an issue anymore," Blake said and Cunningham and Danny exchanged a look. They realized what he didn't say out loud. If someone was staying behind, it had to be one of them. They couldn't in good conscience leave a civilian alone with a possible suspect roaming the premises.

"I'm sticking with the Doc," Danny said before Cunningham could offer that option. Cunningham shot him a glare.

"You realize I could just order you to stay behind, Parks? You're still out of jurisdiction."

Danny clenched his teeth, jutting out his chin in an 'I dare you!' sign.

Blake sighed then shook his head.

"I don't think we should argue right now. It's not like one job is better than the other. Whoever stays out here will be in equal danger."

That seemed to have smoothed some ruffled feathers at least and Cunningham relented.

"Alright. I'll call in our situation and see if Lewis can send out another car. Do you want an ambulance to come here as well Doc?"

Blake shook his head.

"We need to find out if it's safe first. Wouldn't do to have another hostage situation."

Cunningham couldn't argue with that.

"Alright. Try not to get killed, both of you. And if you need any help..."

"You'll hear the gunshots," Danny said with a smirk.

Cunningham rolled his eyes.

"Not what I wanted to hear."

Danny patted the man on the shoulder.

"Trust me, not something I want to hear either," Danny assured him. "Same goes for you though. If there's any danger... shoot."

"Or use the siren," Blake added. He'd rather not have to treat any unnecessary gunshot wounds.

"Right," Cunningham snorted and went back to his car. He settled inside for the moment, reaching for the radio. Danny and Blake turned towards the building and the unwelcoming front door.

"Shall we?" Danny asked thinly.

Blake grunted.

"After you, Danny," he said with some flourish, shooting one last look back towards the parked cars. He had a feeling someone was watching, but he couldn't see any movement. Hell, just the building itself was giving him the creeps.

Not wanting to dwell on the feeling, Blake caught up with Danny and together they reached the front door, wondering just what lay behind them.

* * *

His first reaction was utter disbelief.

"You must be bloody joking," Lawson muttered when he saw the familiar face of one Lucien Blake, closely followed by Parks. The two men stood in the door, blinking against the shine from Lawson's torch, which was pointed right at their faces.

"Matthew?" Blake spoke, shading his eyes and stepping to the side. Lawson noted his other hand was holding a gun. Danny had turned his own torch and it was now Lawson who had to look aside.

"You couldn't have arrived a few minutes earlier could you?" Lawson commented dryly, while he heard Bill next to him let out a nasty curse. Charlie seemed to let out a relieved breath. He had managed to get up on his knees and now sat on his hunches, scowling at the newcomers. Despite the sweat rolling down his face, it was clear he was relieved.

They all were, Lawson couldn't deny that. While he somehow managed to get both his men back up to the main floor, he had no idea what he would do next. Didn't have time to think about it.

Blake's arrival felt like a huge stone had fallen from his shoulders.

"Well, if we'd knew what a nice welcome we're about to get, we would've surely stepped on the gas," Blake noted sarcastically. He was already heading towards them, a frown marring his face as he took in their states.

"Any reason why you're all on the floor?" he asked even as he reached Bill. He was the only one not even attempting to stand up, face scrunched up in a grimace of pain. Or perhaps it was the string of soft curses being uttered under his breath every few seconds.

"A bit of a long story," Lawson waved off the question, shooting a look towards Charlie. The man was struggling back up to his feet, giving him a small nod as if to say he was fine. "Bill here could use your help though. He had a bit of a spill down the stairs."

"More like the bloody stairs fell on us," Bill grunted as Blake squatted down next to him, eyes already taking in the crudely made splint on his right leg.

"Falling stairs eh?" Blake glanced up at Matthew questioningly. Lawson shrugged.

"Falling stairs, slashed tires. The usual Friday evening."

"Oh well, it sure beats having to fight off a group of gangsters and saving the station from burning down," Danny commented offhandedly as he walked up to Charlie, giving him a quick once over and a smirk.

"Say what?" Lawson asked, blinking.

Blake rolled his eyes, shooting Danny a glare.

"That is a long story as well. Let's first take care of the injuries, shall we?"

Lawson gave a reluctant nod, though his face had turned into a deep frown. He watched as Blake checked out Bill, reaching his biggest problem, namely the broken leg.

Blake grimaced, slowly palpating the limb, muttering something under his nose while Bill kept biting down on his lips, hissing and grunting.

Lawson felt sorry for the man, knowing full well what a bitch a broken leg could be. His own was giving him unrelenting twitches of pain for the last hour and he knew that he would not be sleeping well tonight, if at all. But that could wait.

He turned back, hoping to catch sight of Davis. The man was unnaturally quiet. Lawson knew that if he was hurting, Davis must be hurting double. Most of the effort of pulling up Bill was on his shoulders after all. And that was after he had to drag himself up that blasted rope. If he had known that Blake was on the way, hell, he would've just waited.

At least help was there now. He saw Danny eyeing Charlie with some concern, standing just a tad closer than the other man might've preferred based on the scowl on his face. Or was that a grimace? Lawson didn't know, Danny kept swishing the torch all around and his own torch was aimed at Bill so Blake could do his job.

"So, what were you doing up here? Chasing ghosts?" Danny asked, loud enough that they all heard it.

Charlie didn't seem to be amused by the question, and Lawson wasn't either.

Bill growled then yelped as Blake had touched an especially painful spot.

"Fuck! Are you trying to kill me?" Bill sputtered, leaning over, trying to bat away Blake's hands.

Lawson turned his focus on him, squatting down and putting a hand on Bill's shoulder.

"Calm down, sergeant," he said in a commanding tone. "He's just trying to help."

"Yeah, where was he twenty minutes ago?" Bill grunted, shooting an angry and pained look at Blake, then spitting towards where Danny stood. "I'll give you fucking ghosts Parks, just come here!"

"Enough! Control yourself!" Lawson barked and Bill settled down, though he was still glaring daggers at everyone.

Charlie didn't say a word and Danny raised his hands in supplication.

"Whoa. Calm your horses. I was just joking."

"Well pardon us if we don't find it all that humorous," Lawson said with some sarcasm. Danny took a step back, for once closing his mouth.

Charlie just gave him a shake of a head to let it go.

Lawson turned back to Blake.

"What do you need Blake?" he asked in a no nonsense tone. Blake looked down at Bill, one of his hands wrapped around Bill's right wrist.

"Some painkillers for Bill, so we can move him outside. I need my bag, from the car," he looked up and towards Danny.

Danny nodded but before he could move, Charlie spoke up.

"I'll get it."

His tone was dull and Lawson felt some of the concern return.

Charlie must've seen that, because he gave a small shrug and a smile.

"I need some fresh air, Boss," he said and this time he sounded almost normal.

Lawson nodded, jaw tight.

"Go with him, Parks!" he barked still. "Whoever slashed our tires might be out there still. I don't want anyone left alone."

Danny nodded and followed Charlie out of the building. Lawson watched Charlie's steps, the slightly hunched over form but noted that he was walking straight and Parks was by his side.

Letting his concern for one man go, he focused his attention on Blake and Bill.

"Any other injuries I should know about?" Blake asked, looking at Bill questioningly.

Bill shook his head stubbornly.

"Bruises. And the bloody leg. I swear I'll kill whoever made this call," Bill grumbled.

"Oh well. Better not let you get to the station for a few days then," Blake noted with a smirk.

Lawson frowned.

"You keep mentioning that. What the hell happened there? And why didn't Peter send out a patrol car earlier? We were stuck here for hours!"

Blake raised his hand placatingly.

"I'm afraid Peter had his hands tied in this matter... quite literally," he said with a grimace.

Lawson blinked.

So it was true. This was a trap, only it wasn't aimed purely at them. The station...

"Fire... Parks said something about a fire? What's going on Blake?"

Any relief he had felt previously was gone, his heart attempting to jump out of his chest at the thought that his people were in danger; that his station might've been burned down...

"Easy. It's all sorted out now, no worries. Well, maybe some worry, as the main office is... a mess, but... good news is, no one died."

Lawson stared.

He wasn't sure what to say or do. His emotions had been running high for the last few hours and now that Blake was here and it seemed like their plight was over, he learned that it might've only been a start?

"Matthew... I'm serious. Things are being handled. The station is mostly in one piece and your people are alive. The perpetrators are in custody. So the main thing is to get Bill here to the hospital and then I'll explain everyth-" Blake didn't finish.

A sound of gunshot pierced the air, then silence. For a shocking moment no one moved, until someone shouted. There was yelping and cursing, slamming of a car door.

Lawson was back up on his feet before he even realized it.

"Bloody hell, what now?" he thought as he pushed open the heavy entrance door and stepped out into the chaos.

* * *

Charlie couldn't help it. He was annoyed.

After everything he had to do in the last few hours, and the rescue arrived literally minutes later. His first urge was to burst out laughing at the irony, but he knew it wouldn't be a happy laugh. Not when he had to fight down the pain and stop himself from complaining.

Even as he was heading out the door of the asylum, idly wondering why Danny's clothes looked damp and smelled of gasoline, his mind was going over things he wouldn't have needed to do if the men appeared just a bit earlier.

_He could have just waited and been pulled up without having to break a sweat. Or the fear that his hands would give up and he would plummet down the hole, right on top of Bill. And the thing was, even after he made it up, he couldn't rest, couldn't let on how much he wished for sweet unconsciousness._ _He barely got a few minutes to catch his breath under Lawson's all seeing eyes before forcing himself back on his feet._

_What used to be a twitch in his side had become an all encompassing feeling of tightness and throbbing pain. That was before he actually grasped at the rope with Bill._

_At least he had learned his lesson from climbing up the rope. The material was coarse and bit into his flesh. Before he started pulling Bill up, Charlie looked around the hall. He noted an old sheet thrown over a statue. The material ripped up easily and he made himself an impromptu protection of already seared palms. He made sure to wrap his wrist just a bit tighter, feeling it throb relentlessly from his climb. Lawson at least gave him an appreciative look before imitating the process and using the rest of the sheet to wrap his own hands._

_Then Bill's rather panicky voice came up to them and there was no time to waste. Charlie wished he could refuse, but he understood the fear. His skin crawled at the mere thought of being left alone in the dark down there. He didn't even have the history that Bill himself had with this place... or well, places like this._

_So he pushed back the little voice in the back of his head telling him that perhaps doing something as strenuous wasn't in his best interest in this moment._

_Charlie ignored it._

_Of course, that hardly helped. Bill was maybe halfway up when Charlie pulled a bit sooner than Lawson... taking on a bigger weight._

_He felt as if something inside him ripped open. He let out a gasp, barely audible because the pain essentially stole his breath._

_Lawson still turned around and Bill stopped his ascent._

_"Alright there Charlie?" Lawson asked worriedly._

_Charlie swallowed down the whimper that threatened to break through and nodded._

_He was glad the light was on the floor, pointing towards the elevator shaft and Lawson couldn't see the cold sweat that broke out on his face and neck. The darkness though meant he couldn't see him now either._

_"Davis!" Lawson growled, waiting for an answer._

_"Yeah. Just a sec," Charlie said after a second, feeling extremely proud he managed to make those few words without stuttering or whimpering._

_While all he wanted was to lie down and curl up in a ball, he knew it wasn't an option. Not with Bill hanging midair. So he bit down on his tongue until the pain felt almost as real as the pain in his side._

_"Ready," he said and on Lawson's signal, he pulled again._

_He wasn't sure how he managed, but before the world could vanish in a swirl of stars, Bill was up on the floor. The weight suddenly gone, Charlie crashed to the floor, gasping for breath._

_He did it. He didn't let his partner fall, he got him up. Just like promised._

_Now if he only could stay lying down until help arrived, that would be swell. Perhaps in an hour or two, he would be ready to get up and actually try to walk towards the town, to fetch someone._

_Satisfied that he did what he had to, Charlie rested his body on the dusty cold floor, while Lawson and Bill exchanged a relieved word or two._

_His side gave a painful throb and Charlie bit down a muffled groan. He couldn't show weakness because they still had to figure a way out of this place. Would they go on foot? If so, someone needed to stay behind with Bill, which meant it would have to be Charlie who went. Even just the notion of the long walk made him weak._

_'I just need a moment, nothing more,' Charlie tried to convince himself, so he repeated the thought in his head, until it became obsolete because Blake and Danny appeared, out of the blue._

Offering rescue.

Charlie didn't mind, of course. He was actually very relieved and happy, even though he didn't have the energy to show that. He would be lying though if he said it didn't irk him just a bit. The timing.

Charlie could absolutely sympathize with Bill's snappish behaviour, because holly hell, twenty bloody minutes! If Blake had been a bit faster, Charlie wouldn't have to be feeling as if something exploded inside him.

While Danny let slip some rather worrisome sounding comments Charlie couldn't really focus on that. He knew under different circumstances he would feel fear and panic. Someone attacked the station, someone lured them here...

A picture of the pale, lifeless body of Ned flashed before his eyes and he felt his stomach churn. When Blake asked for his bag, Charlie grasped at the chance.

He needed out, needed to get some air, even if just for a moment.

He wasn't all that happy that Danny was tagging along though.

Charlie liked Danny, they become fast pals in the last few months, but Danny's exuberant character could be challenging on most of days. He was chatty and happy go lucky and while Charlie usually felt upbeat by his presence, right now he didn't have the energy.

So he just focused on walking in a mostly straight line and keeping the pained grimaces off his face, while Danny started pestering him with questions.

Charlie gave him a few noncommittal grunts which caused Danny to pause and shoot him a look.

"You alright there mate?"

Charlie just nodded, managing to produce a grimace that meant to be reassuring.

"Yeah. Just... tired. What happened at the station?" he asked, hoping Danny didn't catch the slight hitch in his breath. Damn, but whatever muscle he pulled while lugging Bill was giving him grief. Charlie rubbed at his left shoulder which was now twitching in rhythm with his side.

Danny gave him one more look but Charlie knew he could hardly see anything in the measly light. Maybe he could've caught the whiff of sweat and dirt but Charlie knew the whole building smelled bad. He cringed at the thought of getting into a car under the circumstances. His clothes were covered in dust and grime and who knew what stuff from the bottom floor.

"No offense, but you guys look like you went through war," Danny noted as he opened the door and held it open for Charlie to proceed.

Charlie snorted.

"I wish," he grumbled quietly. "The station?" he said and Danny opened his mouth to hopefully give him some kind of explanation, when he froze.

Charlie frowned, looked at Danny and felt his hackles rise at the sudden change in the younger man's posture.

Danny's hand automatically went for the weapon at his side and Charlie's head swirled around, following Danny's eyes.

He saw a total of four cars, parked not so far from each other. Two were their own, the third also a police car and of course Blake's trusted Holden. One of the cars had its lights turned on, so Blake's car was in full light. However, that didn't offer any protection to the police car.

There, by the back tire on the passenger side, was a hunched figure.

For a second Charlie thought that the figure didn't notice them. It was still as a statue.

Charlie blinked. Perhaps he was mistaken? Perhaps it was just a shadow?

Everything was still for a precious second, and then the figure moved.

Danny pulled his weapon and without warning pulled the trigger.

Charlie jerked at the sudden sound so close to his ears.

The figure stumbled, falling backwards.

It took Charlie a surprisingly long moment to realize Danny didn't hit it. His weapon was aimed higher, just a warning shot.

"Police! Drop that!"

Charlie shook his head, tried to shake off the ringing in his ears as well as to get some sense of the situation. One moment Danny was standing next to him talking, the next he was rushing down the unkempt lawn, weapon aimed, and shouting orders at a dark masked figure. The man... Charlie was sure at least that it was a man, tried to scramble away, get back on his feet and run.

He might've even managed; as soon as he stumbled away from the car the dark clothes made him practically invisible in the night, at least from where Charlie stood.

But Danny wasn't alone.

Charlie recognized Cunningham, just as the man got out of the car and lunged himself after the masked figure.

There was a struggle, lots of cursing and grunts.

All Charlie could do was watch and even that seemed to be difficult.

Things were moving too fast.

Charlie knew he should react, that he should have followed Danny and tried to apprehend the man. He caught sight of a knife in his hands before he vanished from the light, knew he was dangerous.

Yet Charlie couldn't move.

He made a few steps to follow, but his legs felt heavy and his head was fuzzy. Being enveloped in darkness while several meters from him there was a fight gave Charlie a sensation unlike being trapped in a dream. Or a nightmare. One of those where you knew you should run to escape danger or to save a loved one, but your feet refused to move. One where all you could do was open your mouth in a silent scream and only watch and wait until whatever threat approached you and the nightmare ended.

That was how Charlie felt as he stumbled forward, slow and drunkenly.

He tried to remind himself that this wasn't a dream, that he was awake, just being absolutely useless.

In front of him three men struggled on the ground.

He could've reached them in just few steps, but those steps seemed insurmountable.

Cunningham got the upper hand and Danny sent the knife flying, rolling in the dirt far away. The masked figure was pinned down, still trying to fight but two trained men were kneeling on his legs, arms bent back painfully.

They had it under control, Charlie realized.

Good. That was good.

Because he seemed to lose all control of his own body.

Turning away, his only thought was now to get somewhere safe, somewhere away from searching eyes. His stomach gave a warning and Charlie knew what would follow. He spotted the car he drove here, hidden in blissful darkness. Maybe he could make it there. Maybe he could just sit down for a moment and get his bearing, without people firing weapons and fighting all around. He needed privacy and air... lots of it.

With half lidded eyes, he made it to the car just in time. Leaning heavily against the back door, Charlie tried to tune out everything. He needed to focus on breathing, on pushing back the urge to sick up. His side was throbbing, his ribs hurt and his stomach felt as if it was full of rotten water.

Charlie swallowed.

That thought didn't sit well.

An image flashed in front of his eyes. Rusty bathtubs, canvas sheets and restraints. The smell of rot hit him and without warning, Charlie felt everything rush up. He fell to his knees, heaving, and the world became just a dark whirlwind of pain.


	12. Chapter 12

Lawson was about fed up with the day. When he heard the gunshot, he got up to his feet faster than he thought he could. He stumbled a bit as his leg complained fiercely and threatened to buckle under him. His cane was still tied up in the rope, but he assumed pulling it out of its confines would take up too much time. With a curse on his lips, he started towards the door.

"Wait!" Blake was up and by his side in an instant. Lawson shot him a glare.

"Stay back Lucien! Your job is here," he nodded towards Bill who was also trying to get up.

Blake huffed, but didn't argue. Instead he handed Lawson his gun.

"Here. I just thought you might need it."

Lawson took the weapon, feeling a surge of gratefulness. With a nod, he limped to the door, while Blake returned to Bill, trying to convince him to settle back.

Lawson could hear Bill's cursing and would have chuckled if not for the worry of what he would find outside.

The situation wasn't as dire as he thought.

Well, at first he couldn't make out what was happening. His eyes were drawn to the police car with its lights on. It was hard to miss, really. It took a second of squinting but then he located the source of the ruckus.

There, in the shadows behind the car, was a struggling mass on the dirt. Perhaps not so much struggling anymore, but there were curses and harsh words exchanged.

Lawson made a quick sweep of the area, just to assure himself there was no one else in the vicinity posing a threat then he made his way towards the group.

His limping gait didn't do him any favours and by the time he reached the men, he was grimacing and slightly breathless. But he felt his breathing catch up as he saw that Parks and Cunningham had the perp under control.

"Everything alright there?" he asked and Danny shot him a glance. He was still panting slightly from the obvious struggle and Lawson noted Cunningham was sporting a bruised cheek and split lip, but neither of them looked seriously injured.

"Yeah, I spotted the bastard as he was trying to slash the tires," Danny said and Cunningham shook his head.

"Sorry Boss. I was trying to keep an eye on the cars, but Lewis was on the radio requesting an update. The bugger must've slipped by."

Lawson frowned. Just what the hell was Lewis doing at the station?

But that was a question for later. What interested him now was the identity of the perp buckling under Danny's knees.

"So, who do we have here?" he asked gruffly and Danny took it as a command. He reached out and pulled the dark ski mask off in one sweeping motion. If he managed to catch some hair in the process it was hardly his fault surely. Lawson didn't think it warranted the pained yelp of the man.

He shone his torch right at the face, just as Danny grabbed the man's hair at the back of his head, to dissuade him of anything stupid.

"Well, bugger me!" Danny whistled as he saw the face.

"Ernie Mulligan," Lawson said, disappointed but hardly surprised.

Cunningham looked at both of them with confusion.

"You know him?" he asked and Danny snorted in reply.

"I dated his older sister!" Danny uttered but instantly turned bright red and Ernie Mulligan shot him a deadly glare.

"You did what?! You dirty sack of sh-"

Whatever else Ernie wanted to say got lost in the sputtering sound as his head was unceremoniously pushed down to the ground. He was still spluttering dirt and dust when Lawson let out a sigh, running a hand over his face.

Ernie was a bloody nuisance but he didn't think the man had it in himself to be anything but that. Definitely didn't expect him to pull such a strange stunt on a couple of coppers.

"What the hell were you thinking Ernie? Making a false call and endangering police officers? Destroying property?" Lawson listed the offences, though he was sure he would come up with several more by the time they reached the station.

Danny snorted.

"If only that. This idiot was helping out the bastards who tried to spring free Charlie's prisoner! The same ones that tried to burn down the station, with several people still inside!" Danny said, his voice simmering with anger.

Lawson was lost for words. He knew Blake hinted at something going down at the station but what Danny was saying...

He leaned down, grabbing Ernie's head and making sure the man was looking at him.

"Is that true?" he growled and his own voice shook with growing rage.

Ernie tried to pull away but couldn't. He swallowed, the earlier bravado all but gone, replaced by fear.

"I... I didn't do anything! I swear, I don't know what he's talking about!"

Lawson shot Danny a questioning look.

"That's what happened, Boss," Cunningham spoke, his face steely. "Kelly and Thompson had to be taken to the hospital and the station is a mess. But we got them. _All_ of them."

Lawson wanted to take a vacation. He had a feeling that the image of his calm weekend just went out the window.

"I'll ask one more time. If I don't get the right answer, I will personally throw you down those blasted stairs and board up all exits for the next week. You will be left rotting inside this bloody building just like you trapped us here!"

Ernie's eyes went wide and he shook his head.

"No, you can't do that!"

"Oh, I sure as hell will, and happily so," Lawson reassured him with a smile that had no humour but all the threat he could muster.

Ernie swallowed.

"W-what do you want to know?"

"Were you alone or is there someone else?"

Ernie shook his head.

"J-just me."

"Did you rig the staircase?"

Ernie blinked, giving another small shake of his head.

"N-no. I... I just... removed the sign."

"What sign?"

"The 'Do not enter - danger' sign?"

Lawson growled. Of course.

"What was the plan? Did you want to kill us?"

"N-no, I swear, no! I was just supposed to t-trap you here. Till the morning. That was all. I never meant to hurt anyone. Please, you must believe me!"

Ernie started blabbering and Lawson turned away from him in disgust. Sure. Just trap them here. Never mind the fact the staircase almost killed Bill and Charlie.

Thinking of Charlie...

Lawson frowned, looking around. He spotted Blake emerging from the building supporting Bill. He gave them a frustrated but acknowledging nod that the situation was under control. Still, he couldn't spot Davis.

"Where is Charlie?" he asked, turning back towards Parks and Cunningham.

Danny looked around, startled by the question. He glanced towards the front door, but instead of Davis all he saw was Blake and Hobart.

"He was right here..." he muttered and Lawson felt the panic return. He leaned back down, growling.

"If you lied about being alone-" he said threateningly to Ernie, who shook his head, swearing up and down that he did not lie.

"Davis?" Lawson called out, straightening up. Where the hell could have the man vanished?

"Charlie?" Danny shouted as well, turning this way and that.

Blake helped Bill sit down at the stairs leading from the building and headed towards them.

"Davis, I swear to god, if you know what's good for you, call out!" Lawson shouted, hoping that threats might do what a simple plea couldn't.

He listened.

There was silence then it broke with the sound of retching. He noticed a shadow moving from behind one of the parked cars, hunched in the darkness. He stepped out, intent on tearing the man a new one for scaring him like this, while also wanting to make sure he was alright.

"I'll check on him. See to the matters here," Blake told him as he passed by. Lawson paused, only because he knew that Blake would be there faster and most likely able to offer more help. And if Davis was sick, Lawson was hardly the person he would want to see.

* * *

It took Charlie a moment to realize someone was calling for him. He grimaced, wishing he could call back, offer some assistance.

His body had a different idea though. His stomach felt oddly full, despite the fact he just brought up whatever breakfast he grabbed that morning. He was left with a sour taste in his mouth and a screaming side and back.

He tried to call out, to let Lawson know his position or simply just to stop him hollering. He managed a croaky sound but that turned into a dry heave, so he leaned over, one hand clutching his ribs in support, the other grasping the car door handle to keep upright.

"Charlie?" Blake's voice cut through what Charlie would deny was a sob. The light of the torch danced around him, thankfully not yet landing on his face. The doc was approaching from behind and that gave Charlie enough time to try and pull himself together. As much as one could.

"Y-yeah?" he said, unwrapping his arm from around his ribs and reaching up to brush at his face before making the effort to actually turn around.

"Alright there?" Blake asked, even though it must've been clear the answer would be no.

Charlie grimaced then finally turned. He was shaky and the motion was ragged. He was thankful for the support of the car.

"Dandy," he said with a grimace then looked away with a grunt as the light from Blake's torch hit his face. "Doc!" he hissed.

"Sorry. I just wanted to see what dandy looked like. Didn't think it had such a ghostlike appearance," Blake commented dryly, while he gave Charlie another look.

Charlie huffed but couldn't come up with any proper reply.

"Everyone alright?" he asked, glancing behind Blake, trying to catch sight of the others.

"Mostly," Blake said and Charlie frowned. Did someone get hurt while he was puking up his guts?

Blake waved a hand.

"No worse for wear than before we arrived I'm assuming."

Charlie blinked.

"How's Bill?" he asked, trying to deflect from what was clearly the elephant in the room.

Blake ignored him. Instead he stepped up uncomfortably close into his space, especially given what he had been doing just a few moments ago.

"Come on, Charlie. What's wrong?" Blake asked and the tone of his voice broke no argument.

Charlie was reluctant to come clean. He had been feeling off for quite some time now but he still tried to convince himself it was nothing but a few bruised ribs. Now though, he was starting to doubt it. He could feel his heart beating faster inside his chest and even though he was trying to take as deep breaths as the pain in his chest allowed, he still felt winded and that scared him.

Blake must've noticed that. He reached out and put a gentle hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"Charlie, talk to me," Blake said softly but with a sense of concern.

"I probably just pulled a muscle... during the fall. Or lugging Bill around," Charlie finally said, letting a grimace slip on his face.

"During the fall?" Blake frowned and the hand from Charlie's shoulder reached up to tap his chin while the light of the torch was aimed back at him.

Charlie turned his face from the glare and tried to step back but he was leaning against the car.

"Y-yeah. The stairs..." Charlie said and Blake let out a heavy sigh.

"So both you and Bill fell. Few hours ago, right?"

Charlie just nodded.

Blake shone the light into his eyes and Charlie did his best not to pull away. Not that he could, seeing as Blake still had a firm grip on his chin.

"Doc!" he still grunted when the light in front of him turned into a myriad of stars. Blake aimed the light away thankfully.

"Did you hit your head? Lose consciousness?" he started asking, honing in on the already dried up cut on Charlie's forehead he had long forgotten about. Blake's fingers probed the skin around the wound and Charlie kept still, because he barely felt it. Though he wanted to protest when he felt Blake's fingers running over his scalp, looking for other bumps and wounds. Charlie had to cringe, imagining how messy his hair must look. He could feel the grime and dust covering every inch of his body still.

"It was all a blur," Charlie decided to answer sheepishly, hissing when Blake found a painful spot at the back of his head.

"Have you been feeling nauseous before we arrived? Dizzy?"

Charlie gave a half shrug then winced.

"What was that?" Blake honed in on the reaction.

Charlie wanted to curse but was feeling increasingly more tired and thus less inclined to fight or argue.

"Chest. Think I bruised some ribs," he admitted. "Today... sucked."

Blake gave him a sympathetic look and a pat on the shoulder.

"Alright. Why don't you sit down and let me check you out? So we know what's going on."

Charlie wanted to argue that he could wait and didn't need to sit down, but truth was his legs were shaking and the only thing keeping him upright at this moment was the car and Blake's grip on his arm.

So he nodded and perhaps too eagerly slid down to the ground.

"Whoa... I meant inside the car," Blake muttered even as he made a grab for Charlie to stop him from too fast a descent.

"Oh. Sorry," Charlie mumbled. But really, getting into the car just seemed like too much of a work seeing as he was leaning against the door.

"Alright, no problem. I wanted you sitting and you are," Blake said with a small chuckle. "Now, let's see how much damage you managed to incur in the last few hours."

Charlie wanted to take offense at the phrasing but his head was becoming more fuzzy and he thought saving his breath might be prudent. Especially if Blake planned on touching his ribs. Which he obviously did, though first the doc settled the torch on the ground and aimed it so the light shone at Charlie's torso and not his face. Charlie hoped the torch was far away from what he managed to bring up at least.

He tried to focus on anything else besides what Blake was doing but that was impossible. Charlie tried to focus on his hearing, to figure out what was happening with the others. He caught the sound of familiar voices, car door slamming, and some grunting. Perhaps he even caught his own name, but that all got lost as Blake pressed against one of the injured ribs.

Charlie took in a sharp breath, smacking the back of his head against the car as his body reacted on instinct and attempted to flee.

"Easy there," Blake soothed, giving Charlie a moment to pull himself together.

"S-sorry. Startled me," Charlie stuttered, unsure who was he even trying to convince. Blake still nodded.

"It's alright. But try not to dent the car too much. I'd hate to explain that to Matthew," Blake said, trying to lighten the mood.

Charlie gave a shaky chuckle.

"Blame it... on the ghosts," he said then hissed as Blake continued his gentle but painful check.

He had to bite down a few times but thought he handled himself quite well. That was until Blake moved just under his ribcage and pressed down. That bloody hurt. The moment the pressure eased though...

It felt as if Blake had just stabbed him with a knife. The pain was so sharp that Charlie jerked to the side, overcome by the feeling of sickness.

Nothing but dry heaves came up though and the stabbing pain dulled slightly, spreading across his stomach and back. He didn't even notice the hand placed on his back in support or Blake's attempt at calming him down. All he knew was that he was propped on his elbows, forehead pressed into the dirt, nostrils flaring as he gasped for breath, trying to get control over the pain and nausea.

He uttered a curse or at least a moan that was pretty close to it.

"Charlie? You with me?" Finally, Blake's voice broke through the thudding inside his ears. The tone was off. If Charlie didn't know better he would've said Blake was scared.

But that couldn't be. The man had nothing to be afraid of. They were safe. Weren't they?

"Doc?" he asked, wanting to make sure.

"Ah, here you are," Blake said with some relief. "You alright? Can you turn around? I need to check one more thing... then I'll let you rest a bit."

Charlie blinked, confused. Check what?

"Huh?"

"Let me help you?"

Blake's voice sounded pleading. Charlie didn't like that. So he nodded and tried to follow what the Doc wanted him to do. Maybe then he could get more comfortable and get some sleep. He felt so damn tired, as if he had ran a marathon.

With Blake's help he managed to turn around and lie down on his back. That wasn't so bad actually. Until Blake tried to prove some damn point.

Charlie wasn't sure where the man had vanished, he just heard the car door open, then Blake was back and there was something soft being bunched up under his feet.

He felt ridiculous in that position. With his legs raised he felt the blood rushing into his head. At least that was what he imagined was happening. His headache flared just a bit, then it settled into the regular throb he was dealing with since the fall. What gave him grief though was the sudden pain at the tip of his left shoulder.

He hissed and clumsily reached up with his right arm to massage the appendage.

"Hurts?" Blake asked, giving him a studious and somehow grim glance.

"Yeah," Charlie admitted with a scowl.

"Can I sit up now?" he asked somehow pleadingly, his legs already kicking at whatever was propping them up. He didn't like to be on his back. It didn't help, the pain just seemed... more intense.

Blake seemed to hesitate but then nodded in agreement.

"Alright. Here, let me help."

With some grunting and grimacing, Charlie was back in his sitting position, with his back leaning against the car. Blake had grabbed what had been under Charlie's feet. It was one of the blankets they kept for cases of emergency. Without asking, Blake threw it over Charlie's legs.

"Comfortable?"

Charlie snorted. The idea of being comfortable right now was ridiculous. Still, he gave a grunt of agreement. Sitting up seemed to ease the pain in his shoulder and it was a bit easier to breathe as well. He still felt as if his stomach was full of water, but that was ridiculous. One, he was pretty sure his stomach was empty. Two... he could've killed for something to drink. He actually wanted to ask if Blake didn't have some water, but the man had patted his leg and stood up.

"Alright. Stay as you are. I need to give Bill that shot and then get you both into a working car."

Charlie blinked, confused at the sudden urgency in Blake's voice.

"Doc? What-"

But Blake shook his head, giving him a cracked smile.

"Everything will be fine, don't worry."

Then he was gone.

Charlie wasn't sure if he blinked or his mind was playing tricks on him, but by the time he opened his mouth, Blake was gone. He would've thought it was just a dream, but the torch was still there and Charlie's legs were covered in the blanket.

However, Blake's words rung in Charlie's mind and the only thing he could focus on was 'don't worry'. It was almost funny how those words made Charlie's blood turn just a bit cold. Shivering, he pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, giving in to the trembling. All he could do was wait.

* * *

Blake felt rather disconcerted by leaving Charlie on the ground, but he needed to make sure they had at least one working car before trying to lug him towards it. If his assumptions were correct, and he was pretty sure they were, the last thing Charlie needed was to be moving around.

He also didn't need to be left alone, Blake thought with gritted teeth. That's why his steps first led towards Danny. He was currently checking out the flat tire on Cunningham's car. Cunningham was talking on the radio, most likely requesting the ambulance for Bill. The perp was sitting on the backseat, handcuffed. Blake hoped he won't be stupid enough to try and escape but that was a matter he didn't waste too much time entertaining. There were more important things to do.

He caught sight of Bill, sitting stoically at the stairs, grimacing and occasionally reaching out towards his leg only to pause mid motion and pull back. The man needed some painkillers and have the leg put into proper cast. And after realizing he fell for Charlie's game of pretence, Blake wanted to make sure Bill wasn't doing the same and hiding more injuries. He swore those men would make him turn grey.

Lawson seemed to be torn between commanding Danny to change the tire, glaring at the perp, shooting worried glances towards Bill and trying to keep standing without his cane to lean on. Blake cringed internally, knowing well the man's leg must be killing him by now.

"Well? Where's Davis?" Lawson spoke as soon as he saw Blake emerge from behind the car, alone.

"He needed a moment. Danny... could you go keep him company for a bit?" Blake asked, ignoring the frown on Lawson's face. He knew he had no business ordering Danny around, but right now neither did Matthew.

Danny looked up from the tire, confused and worried.

"Sure..." he said, dragging it out a bit. He glanced at Lawson, as if asking for his permission. Lawson ignored him, keeping his glare trailed solely on Blake. "Boss?" Danny couldn't stop himself.

"You heard the man!" Lawson snapped, casting a glance at the man inside the car and Cunningham, who looked up from the radio.

Danny didn't need any more encouragement. He quickly walked to where Charlie was supposedly 'taking a moment'.

"How bad is it?" Lawson asked once Danny was gone.

Blake had an urge to snap back 'bad enough'. How the hell did his friend not realize that Charlie was hurt? Why didn't they tell him right away?

Blake shook his head.

He could hardly blame Lawson for that. After all, he made the same mistake when he arrived. He saw Charlie standing, talking. He focused on the one person who was clearly injured. Being he had much more medical expertise than Lawson, he could hardly fault him for not taking notice.

"We need to get him to the hospital, as soon as possible."

Lawson nodded.

"Cunningham!" he called out and Cunningham popped his head out of the car.

"Yes sir?"

"Was the ambulance dispatched already?"

Cunningham grimaced.

"There's a small... problem with that, Boss."

Lawson scowled, turning his full attention towards Cunningham.

"A problem?" he growled.

"Yes. Lewis just got a call... one of the ambos transporting the injured prisoner had an... accident."

"Accident," Lawson repeated, his voice lower than a growl now. Cunningham visibly swallowed then nodded.

"It's... the prisoner tried to escape."

Blake would've sworn he could see the veins on Lawson's temple's bulge despite the fact it was dark.

"Well... did he?"

"No, Boss. The attempt was thwarted. No one was seriously hurt, but the ambulance isn't mobile now."

"Well, tell them to bloody send a different one?"

"Uh... they have their hands a bit full at the moment. Also..." Cunningham was clearly reluctant to continue.

"Spit it out!" Lawson barked.

"They refuse to send out a car unless it will be accompanied by a police presence. They are worried about... the situation turning hostile."

Blake could see that the situation was indeed turning hostile and it would most likely turn murderous, so he decided to step in.

"It doesn't matter anyway, Matthew," he said, going for a calm tone.

"Come again?" Lawson frowned and Blake realized that might've come out... wrong.

"I meant, the ambulance wouldn't help. It would take longer than if we just drive Bill and Charlie to the hospital ourselves. Not like the ambulance can offer much more than we do right now."

Lawson looked as if he was chewing on glass but spared Cunningham a blow up.

"Alright then. Cunningham, fix that tire so we can get the hell out of here as well. I'm assuming you will want Parks with you?" Lawson turned to Blake.

Blake blinked. He hasn't really thought about it, but the idea had some merit.

"Yeah. He can drive and I can keep an eye on the injured parties."

Lawson nodded as if he was expecting nothing less.

"How can I help now?"

"Maybe sit down so I don't have to worry about your leg giving out as well?" Blake noted in a quiet tone. Lawson snorted, waving him off.

"It held up this far, it can handle few more minutes."

Blake shrugged and turned to Cunningham who was opening the trunk to take out the spare tire and the jack.

"Can you radio back and ask Lewis to call the hospital?"

Cunningham looked at him and nodded.

"Sure, doc. What should he tell them?"

"To call in Dr. Hammock if possible. And that we will be transporting a patient with possible internal injuries so they better prep a team for surgery."

Cunningham's eyes widened a bit but he followed the request.

"That bad?" Lawson noted, his voice grim. Blake sighed.

"Let's hope I'm wrong, aye?"

"Just how often were you wrong?" Lawson muttered but Blake didn't deem it necessary to answer. His goal now was clear. He walked up to his car, doing a quick sweep to make sure all his tires were alright. Then he settled in behind the wheel and drove the car all the way up to the stairs where Bill sat. It wasn't all that far but he knew that with a broken leg, every step felt like a mile.

Blake grabbed his medical bag and knelt down next to Bill.

"Doing alright there Bill?" he asked even as he was pulling out a small bottle and a syringe. Bill was already pale and a bit shaky but he seemed to shudder at the sight of the needle.

"Can't wait to get the hell out of here. What's going on Blake? Where is Davis?"

"Ah... Charlie. I think the lad managed to get a bit more banged up than he let us know. As I understand, you two spent some time together on the bottom floor?"

"Yeah. What do you mean? Davis was fine... he bloody well dragged me all through the building and pulled me up the shaft," Bill said somehow gruffly then winced as Blake drove in the needle.

"Here, that should help with the pain. I don't want to give you too much, but this will take off the edge for the drive."

Blake capped the needle and packed up his bag. He took hold of Bill's wrist to check his pulse and to stall a bit. So Charlie had dragged Bill all that way? No wonder he was in a right state. Even a small tear or bleed could rapidly worsen if one was exerting himself in such a way. Blake wanted to give Charlie a piece of his mind about doing such a thing and putting others above himself, but he realised that would be unfair. Most likely, Charlie really didn't think it was something worse than a bruised or broken rib.

"Alright. Seems like you're holding on. Ready to get up? We need to get you into the car."

Bill grimaced but didn't protest. He seemed to be somehow lost in thought but Blake didn't have it in himself to try and pry. He just leaned down and offered his shoulder.

Somehow awkwardly and with lot of grunting and several choice curses, Blake managed to manoeuvre Bill into the front seat. It offered the most space for his leg. Not losing anymore time, he slammed the door shut and hopped into his seat. Once again he drove his car the short distance separating him from Charlie and Danny. It was time to get everyone the help they deserved and needed.


	13. Chapter 13

The light was playing tricks on him. Either that or there was something moving in the shadows... there! Was that a bird? A ghost?

Charlie blinked then rubbed at his eyes.

This was ridiculous. Why was he even sitting here, wrapped up in a stupidly threadbare blanket that did nothing to drive away the chill of the air? What was he waiting for?

For god's sake, he managed to drag Bill's form up several meters, fighting the gravity and Bill's conceivable weight. Alright, Charlie knew Bill was just a wiry bloke but still. After serving as his crutch for an hour or so, even that was a lot.

Charlie sighed. Rubbing at his eyes didn't stop the shadows from moving and he wasn't even sure if it were shadows or his vision getting spotty. There was also a dull roar in his ears that made it rather hard to follow what was going on around him. Charlie cursed the fact he had stumbled to the most stupidly parked car and collapsed out of sight. Well, he didn't mind being out of sight, but he did mind not having a clue as to what was happening with the others.

It just rubbed him wrong. Just as much as Blake's insistence that he stayed put.

He wasn't even so badly injured, really. Some broken ribs was all. True, he got sick and whimpered like a cry-baby when Blake was doing his torture, but who wouldn't? He was pretty sure he heard Bill utter some choice curses just a moment ago.

Maybe he should look. He wasn't an invalid, he could move. Preparing himself for the onslaught of discomfort - it wasn't pain unless you let it become pain, Charlie thought - he pushed off the blanket. Then he pressed his back against the car and was planning to use it as a counterforce to push himself up to his feet. Surely that couldn't have been so hard.

He made it only few centimetres off the ground when his side protested and he sank back. Nope, he needed a different method.

Perhaps rolling to the side and getting up on his knees would be more feasible.

Charlie was just in the process of attempting that when a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and practically pushed him back down to the ground.

"Whoa, mate! Where were you heading?"

Charlie blinked.

"Danny? What-" he didn't know if he should cuss the man out for almost giving him a heart attack and impeding his mission of 'getting up', or give him a hug because it was just Danny and not some psychopathic killer who took advantage of him being distracted.

Danny didn't give him time to decide.

"Man, you look rotten," he commented, grabbing for the discarded blanket. "This yours?"

Charlie shook his head, flustered. Danny raised an eyebrow and without asking threw the blanket over Charlie then plopped down next to him.

"What's going on?" Charlie finally managed to ask, feeling too confused by the sudden change. He was thankful for Danny's presence at least. If nothing else, he should be able to answer some questions and if Lawson wasn't requiring his presence it meant the situation must've been under control.

Danny gave Charlie an assessing look. Charlie wasn't sure what he saw but he tried to give as good as he got. Danny was his junior in a way and Charlie really hated the idea of looking weak in front of him. It was almost as bad as looking weak in front of his kid brothers.

"We caught Ernie Mulligan. He was the one who prank called you."

Charlie frowned, trying to place the name. He had heard it before but couldn't put a face to it. Danny waved it off.

"Not really important. Just a dumb kid trying to make a name for himself."

Charlie shook his head. That wasn't making any sense.

"A kid? What... why would he..." Trying to figure it out was making his headache so much worse. Charlie closed his eyes for a moment.

"Hey mate, don't fall asleep on me," Danny nudged his shoulder and Charlie grunted because it jarred his side.

"Don't do that!" he snapped.

"Sorry," Danny apologized with a frown on his face. "But really, stay awake. I don't want Blake on my ass."

Charlie snorted.

"Don't tell me you afraid of him?"

Despite how rotten he felt, the mere idea amused him. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Hardly. But then he might tell Jean and man, you don't want to piss her off. She just brained an armed guy with a fire extinguisher! It wasn't pretty," Danny said and the look in his eyes said he wasn't lying.

Charlie frowned. Every time Danny or Blake spoke since their arrival it left Charlie more confused, only with shards of a picture that made no sense whatsoever.

"Jean brained... what are you on about?"

Danny grimaced, his fingers rapping against his legs in nervous energy. It was clear he was still riding some adrenaline high. Something must've happened and it involved also Jean. Charlie thought his night was going shitty. He would've hoped the others were out of danger at least.

"Well, you see... there was this hold-up at the station..." Danny started, throwing a careful look around, as if trying to reassure himself Blake or Lawson weren't listening in. Charlie had a feeling his Boss didn't have a much better picture than him.

"Danny..." he grunted warningly. If the man wanted him to stay awake, the least he could do was actually tell him what the hell was going on.

Danny still looked unsure and Charlie was getting more and more annoyed.

"What happened at the station?" he asked through gritted teeth. He tried to pull himself more upright, so he could be eye to eye with Danny, hating the fact he already must've looked like some weakling with the bloody blanket.

Danny sighed.

"Alright man, just promise not to freak out?"

Charlie gave him a stony look. He was hoping it had the same effect Lawson's look might have, but Danny just raised a brow and shook his head.

"Long story short... the case you had?"

Charlie closed his eyes, this time in frustration and disbelief.

"Don't tell me... all this cause of Eddie Korbyn?"

He should have known they would try something. He should've known that Eddie was merely a test, an attempt. That there would be more to come. He should have pressured the team in Sydney to come and pick him up earlier, to get rid of him. Instead he left the man, a member of a gang family, in a barely guarded police station during night. God, he hoped no one was harmed.

"Please... tell me no one got hurt?" he said, opening his eyes and giving Danny a look that warned him from trying to lie. Danny cringed.

"Thompson and Kelly were a bit banged up, not gonna lie," Danny admitted then quickly raised his hand.

"But everyone is alive! Even the idiots who thought it was a good idea to attack the station."

"So... you stopped them?" Charlie asked a bit miffed. He wasn't sure what to feel. Relief? Jealousy? Rage?

He settled with relief, especially as he remembered that somehow Jean managed to get involved.

"Yeah, we got them all. And man, you should've seen it... we rocked!" Danny was all beaming and proud.

Charlie chuckled, letting his head rest against the car. He wanted to ask a ton of questions but wasn't sure he would be able to handle the answers. With the way his head was throbbing he was thinking a bit of quiet would be more appreciated. Getting patched up and into his own bed sounded even better.

"What's going on over there?" he asked, nodding to the side.

Danny got up to his feet and Charlie envied him the effortlessness of that motion. He wanted to follow, but Danny seemed to sense that and put a stilling hand on his shoulder.

"Ah... the boss is pestering Cunningham... and Blake is helping Bill into the car."

Charlie blinked then with a grunt tried to get up.

"Whoa, where are you going?" Danny tried to stop him, but Charlie had enough of sitting around. A dull voice in the back of his head was telling him that Bill was his responsibility, that he should be guarding his back.

"We need to help them," he tried to voice, but mid-motion realized it might've been a bad idea. A sharp pain shot through his stomach, instantly followed by the feeling of nausea. He was on his knees, hunched over, arms curled around his chest and stomach.

There was nothing to bring back up of course so all he could do was to work through it, then spit out a string of curses. His eyes were shut tight and he could feel tears of pain running down his cheeks, but he couldn't even reach up to brush them off, because if he let go, his torso would most likely explode.

"Hey, easy mate... come on, stop scaring me," Danny's hushed voice tore through his misery and Charlie felt his friend kneel down next to him, running one hand over his back in a soothing attempt, while the other was holding his shoulder, in case he felt like keeling over.

Charlie swallowed hard and tried to focus on breathing.

"Can you hold on? I'll call the Doc-"

Danny was about to stand up and call out when Charlie grabbed his sleeve and shook his head.

"No. I'm... fine. Stay."

Charlie knew he wasn't fine and Danny knew it as well. But there wasn't much he could do about it and as they heard the car door closing, they both knew that Blake would be there shortly anyway.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Danny asked, seemingly pissed at being left in the dark.

Charlie wished he could answer, but he honestly didn't know. He just shook his head and tried to control his breathing and the pain. As he heard the car coming closer and the reflectors lighting up the bushes nearby, he turned to Danny with a pleading look.

"Help me... up?"

He really didn't want Blake to see him in such a demeaning position for the second time that day.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Danny seemed rather hesitant but when Charlie reached out with his hand, he grabbed it. With a sigh, he helped Charlie up to his feet.

Charlie thought it would feel better to be upright. His body let him know he was dearly mistaken. The pressure inside his head spiked momentarily and he hissed. His legs threatened to give out, fortunately, Danny's hand pushed him backwards so most of his weight was supported by the car.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, trying to get hold of himself. His vision was swimming a bit and he could feel his whole body trembling, as if he had just ran a marathon. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay upright for too long. Either his legs would buckle or he would faint. None of those were acceptable options.

"Alright there mate?" Danny asked, looking more concerned than Charlie would've liked.

"Yeah," he grunted. Perhaps one word answers were the way to go. It might converse oxygen, which he was seemingly having a bit of trouble getting.

Danny's doubt was palpable, but perhaps fortunately, he didn't get a chance to voice them. Blake's car parked as close as it was possible in the given situation. Which was about three meters away. Blake stepped out and walked up to them.

"Alright, boys. Time to pack this up and head out, shall we?"

Charlie didn't have any argument against that. He felt some confusion though when Blake handed his keys over to Danny and settled down next to him in the back seat.

"Doc? You won't drive?" he asked with some suspicion.

Blake shrugged.

"I drove here. It's Danny's turn. Now, let's go. Danny, drive her gently if you may," Blake still warned, quite aware of Danny's previous mishaps with cars.

Danny rolled his eyes and Bill snorted.

"Splendid way to end this night... getting into an accident because someone put Parks behind the wheel."

"Hey! I can drive like anyone else!" Danny protested as he turned the car and drove past Lawson and Cunningham.

Charlie frowned.

"Wait. The boss?" he turned his head to see that the others weren't following.

"They will just fix the tire and head back to the station."

"Why didn't we wait?" Charlie asked gruffly. It didn't feel right, leaving Lawson behind with a suspect and only Cunningham as backup. What if there were others? What if something happened and-

"They'll be fine, Charlie," Blake said reassuringly, giving Charlie's shoulder a squeeze. "Their radio works and Lewis knows their location."

"Peter knew ours too... we still got stuck here," Charlie answered, annoyed and nervous.

"Peter was held at gunpoint when he sent you out. The station is back under control," Blake said calmly then changed the topic.

"Alright there Charlie?" he asked, though he kept his voice low.

Charlie blinked, his brain still stuck on the information that Peter was held at gunpoint.

"What?"

"You turning deaf, Davis? He asked if you're fine," Bill snapped from the front, quite effectively pulling him from his thoughts.

"Thank you Bill. I doubt that was necessary," Blake said reproachfully then turned his attention back to Charlie.

"Though the question stands."

"Uh..." Charlie wasn't sure how to answer. Sitting down did help some, at least his legs no longer threatened to give up on him. However, everything else felt the same. Wrong. The movement of the car didn't help it either. Charlie felt as if his stomach was full of water and the vibrations of the car kept jiggling it. His temples were thumping in rhythm with the car and he was so damn thirsty.

"Water... do you have some?" he asked, hoping he could at least wet his parched lips. Maybe even douse the thirst.

"I'm thirsty," Charlie added when he saw the frown on Blake's face. Really, was it so surprising? He must've sweat through his whole uniform just by dragging Bill around and they had no water at all since leaving the station.

"There should be a water bottle somewhere. Doc always brings some, am I right?" Danny asked with a smile. "I can stop the car if it's in the trunk."

"No need for that," Blake halted him with a grimace.

"What, you don't have any water? That's hardly smart in these parts," Danny chimed him and Charlie gruffly agreed. Even if it wasn't fresh water, everyone had _some_ water here, in case the car overheated or broke down.

"There is a bottle, but I'd rather Charlie not drink any," Blake said and he shot a glare towards Danny.

Charlie didn't know if he should feel confused or hurt by that. What, did Blake think water was too good for him? Charlie's lips were parched and he knew if he just had a sip, his headache might lessen.

"Doc?" he questioned him, barely hiding the hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Charlie. I know you're thirsty, but I don't want to risk giving you water right now."

"Why the hell not?" Charlie felt the hurt turning into annoyance. After the night's events, here he was, being denied the most simple of things by Blake himself.

Blake looked like he was thinking through his reply. Finally he came to a decision. Sighing, he offered Charlie a regretful grimace.

"I have a suspicion that you might be suffering from some internal bleeding. In such cases it is recommended not to give patients anything per mouth, in case they will have to go under for surgery. Same reason I'm not offering you any painkillers right now."

Charlie stared at Blake, not sure he heard right.

"Surgery? Doc... I'm fine," he insisted, even though his mind was telling him it was a lie. He looked at his shaking hands and turned them into fists to stop the movement, as if that was evidence of his health.

Blake's hand snuck down and fingers wrapped around his right wrist. Charlie tugged his hand away, shooting Blake a glare.

"I'm fine!" he hissed, ignoring Blake's seemingly understanding look.

"I'm not disputing that. Maybe I'm wrong. Trust me; I would be more than happy to admit a mistake. In that case I'll bring you a cup of iced tea myself," Blake said, obviously trying to appease him.

It didn't work.

"It's just bruised ribs," Charlie muttered stubbornly. "I pulled a muscle dragging Bill," he added.

"Hey, leave me out of that! I didn't ask for your help!" Bill snapped back.

"Sure, I should've left your ass down there," Charlie bit back, but there was no anger behind it. He knew how Bill felt about the place, knew there was no way he could have left him there after what he learned about his mother. Then another thought hit him. If Blake thought he was hurt that bad, there was no way they were going anywhere but the hospital.

He let out a groan of misery.

"Doc... please. I just want to go home," he said, not even caring about the impossibility of it.

"No can do. If nothing else, we need to get Bill to the hospital and you need an x-ray of those ribs."

Charlie groaned again. When Blake reached out to take hold of his wrist, he didn't pull back this time, but he kept his fist clenched.

"Easy does it, Charlie," Blake chastised him as he felt his pulse. Charlie rolled his eyes, trying to look nonplussed, but inside he was starting to panic. He really didn't want to go under a knife. And what if it was bad? Really bad?

He knew something was wrong, could feel it for quite some time now. He had broken ribs before but he never felt this miserable. While he was in the building, the discomfort was pushed back somehow by the continuous feeling of a looming threat. Once it passed though...

He tried not to panic, he really did. But his heart was already pounding in his chest and his breathing was shallow and fast, trying to keep the pain in his ribs at minimum. He wasn't sure if the darkness around was closing in on him or if he was just imagining it. Suddenly he felt Blake's hand squeeze his wrist a bit harsher.

"Hey, it will be alright," Blake reassured him softly.

Charlie swallowed.

"You sure of that Doc?"

"Yes. It must be a slow bleeder, or you would be much worse off. Now, why don't you leave the worrying up to me and just relax?"

Charlie didn't feel all that much reassured by his words. Anything that caused Blake worry was a bit scary. But there was hardly anything he could do at this moment. He wished to close his eyes and sleep, but he was pretty sure that would be frowned upon right now. So with a careful sigh, he nodded and turned his face towards the window. If nothing else, he could watch the darkness pass by, he thought with a grimace.

Charlie wondered how long it would take them to get to the hospital. Danny was driving painfully slow, though Charlie could hardly fault him for that. They were still on one of the old side roads, in the middle of the night. The only source of visibility was the car lights and Charlie was more than aware of how much danger that posed. He had personal encounters with a kangaroo jumping in front of his car, or some other night animal deciding the road was a good place to stop and stare.

The way they were going though, it would take them an eternity to get anywhere. Charlie was hoping if nothing else, he could get something to drink at the hospital. Or they could knock him out, he didn't even care at this point as long as it would give him some reprieve from his misery.

Bill seemed to be of the same opinion because he started pestering Danny about not driving like an old lady.

"Mind your own business, Hobart," Danny grumbled, face practically plastered against the front shield, trying to spot any danger. His foot still stepped on the gas just a bit.

Charlie would've applauded.

If not for the damn hole in the road.

The tire ran over it with a jump. Bill cried out as his leg was jostled.

Charlie let out a gasp, the hand that wasn't still clasped in Blake's grip curling around his abdomen.

He swallowed then whimpered.

It was as if someone punched him in the stomach. It bloody hurt and his vision swam. His chin quivered on its own volition. He felt his body trying to curl into a ball, at the same time feeling incredibly light and astoundingly heavy.

A thought that perhaps Blake should've been the one driving after all flashed through his mind before it turned blank.

* * *

_"Bloody idiot! I swear, you do this again, I'll break your bloody leg, see how you like it!"_

Charlie frowned.

He knew that voice but the words weren't making much sense. And why was Bill shouting?

Confusion, that was what he felt first and foremost. Charlie tried to open his eyes, unsure if he closed them or if it was just in the middle of the night. Neither explained however why was Bill cursing. And was that Danny apologizing and sniping back at him at the same time?

Nothing made sense. Maybe he should just go back to sleep. It felt good to be finally lying down...

Charlie's mind finally caught up with him, albeit fuzzily.

He hadn't been lying down before. Did they reach the hospital already? Or was all of it a bad dream and he was in his own bed?

Danny and Bill were still bickering though and there was a familiar rumble trying to shut them up.

"Cut it out, both of you! Danny, try to keep the bloody car stable, but don't dawdle around. We need to get back to town." There was certain urgency in Blake's voice, but that wasn't what made Charlie pause. The voice was coming from above him and he could swear he felt the vibration of it under his head.

Wait, no. That was the vibration of the car's engine. He was still in the car, in the back seat. Lying down. Or well, most of his body seemed to be horizontal. Charlie's legs were still kind of hanging over the seat. It was as if he had slumped to the side.

But there was hardly enough room for that unless...

Charlie's shoulders tensed. What he assumed was a pillow under his head was in fact Blake's thigh. What he thought was a blanket was a jacket haphazardly thrown over his torso.

The car gave a small lurch. Bill cursed, Danny apologized. Charlie's body started rolling forward, unbalanced, but he was stopped by an arm thrown over his chest, keeping him in place.

He still let out a grunt, because even the slight pressure across his chest caused a spike in pain.

"Charlie?" Blake asked and the arm had somehow manoeuvred him back so he was leaning more against the seat, Blake's hand once again wrapped around his wrist. Charlie would have pulled away, annoyed about being checked on what seemed to be constantly, but in reality the touch felt calming. The warm fingers felt great against his chilled skin and the grip stayed even if he closed his eyes, as a reminder that he wasn't alone. There was someone taking care and even though it felt like giving up control, Charlie knew he really had none at this moment.

"Is he awake?" came from Danny, his voice relieved and apologetic at the same time.

"I don't know. Are you, Charlie?" Blake asked, leaning over a bit. Charlie grimaced as the move jostled his head.

"Y-yeah," he said, unsure if he was happy about it or not.

"How are you feeling?"

"Rotten," Charlie admitted. "What... what happened?" he asked, blinking. Did he imagine it or did they pass a street light? Lord, he hoped they were in town already.

"You fainted," came from the front seat. Hobart's voice sounded strange. A bit choked, a bit pissed. If Charlie hadn't known better he would've mistaken it for concern, but that was hardly the truth. His musings about Bill's strange tone were cut short when he caught up with his actual words.

"Did not," he grumbled.

"Didn't what?" Blake asked, confused.

"Faint," Charlie protested with a pout. For Christ's sake... he was an adult man and a Davis. He did not faint. Maybe fall unconscious, but... fainting was for ladies.

Bill snorted.

"Oh, you so did. Swooned like a fair maiden at her first kiss," Bill noted with a curve of his lip. Charlie wanted to argue that was not true, when Danny stepped into the argument.

"Oh, and just how do you know how a fair maiden faints? Kissed many girls lately?"

"Surely more than you ever will," Bill snapped back and the car was once again filled with the sound of the two men bickering, although Charlie didn't detect any real anger in it.

Charlie wondered if it was all just pretence or a distraction, but he didn't much care. As long as they didn't require his input into the silly debate and Bill forgot about the fainting, he was perfectly fine with just lying there and...

Charlie tensed. Was he really lying with his head on Blake's lap while the man was basically holding him in a half embrace to keep him from jostling during the ride?

"Doc?" he asked quietly, trying to turn his head up so he could see the man's face.

"Yes Charlie?" the man looked down and Charlie was heartened to actually see his face. That meant they were indeed in the town and passing through streets with lamps. That meant less of a chance for Danny running into something on the road.

"How much longer?" Charlie asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as shaky as he felt. He could tell his hands were trembling but he had a feeling that the rest of his body was being wracked by an occasional shiver as well and it frankly scared him.

"Not much longer now, Charlie. We are quite close. Don't worry. We will take care of you."

Blake's reassurances more than anything told Charlie that the man was worried. Somehow though, the fierce panic he felt just moments ago had vanished. Instead there was numbness and cold. It felt almost nice.

His body shivered and it must've been noticeable this time, because Blake frowned, tucking the jacket tighter around Charlie's torso.

"Feeling cold?" he asked and Charlie gave a humming ascent. Opening his mouth seemed like too much of a chore.

"Danny, can you crank up the heat?" Blake said, momentarily breaking through some childish argument between Danny and Bill.

"Sure Doc," Danny said, his voice tinted with worry. "Everything alright back there?"

"It will be, as soon as we reach the hospital," Blake answered, his voice hinting that it might be good to speed it up a bit. Danny gave a terse nod and Charlie felt the car jolt a bit as it hit a higher speed.

He let out a moan as the movement caused his vision to swim. Maybe lying down in a moving car wasn't the best thing. He could see the street lights rushing past in the window and it made him more and more dizzy.

"Charlie? What's wrong?" Blake questioned, gently patting his cheek to get him to open his eyes. "Stay awake, alright?"

Charlie grunted.

"Dizzy," he managed to say then promptly closed his eyes. He wasn't going to risk getting sick to his stomach again, not inside the car. He would never live it down. Or live it through as it was. He was sure next time he puked it would be his stomach coming up.

He tightened his arm around his midriff and squirmed, trying to find a better position. All he wanted was to alleviate the damn pain. It felt as if something was stabbing him in the back, while his chest felt like it was swimming in water. As if something was pressing down on his lungs, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Charlie managed to turn a bit, pulling one leg up towards his chest. That might've helped with the discomfort in his back, but it didn't make breathing any easier.

"Whoa, easy. What's the matter? Charlie?" Blake's arms were now struggling to keep him still and stop him from toppling over. Charlie might've felt bad for it, but he was past clear thinking. The voices inside the car became a cacophony of sounds. All he was sensing were the hands trying to restrain him, the cold that seemed to wrap around his body and the unrelenting discomfort. All he wanted was to find a position that didn't hurt. Was that so bloody much to ask for?

He almost managed, he thought, curled up into an almost foetal position, but that gave little space for his lungs to expand.

"Charlie, you need to-"

He didn't catch what he needed to do. All he could do was let out a whimper and move his legs in a jerky motion. His foot connected with something hard and the short pain was almost welcome, but it was lost in the overall misery.

Charlie let out a keening sound of protest as his body twisted in search for escape.

Something inside throbbed with sharp pain and Charlie's back arched. He heard someone moan. He heard someone call his name. There was a jostle as the car came to a sudden halt and then it all stopped. If Charlie had been still aware, he would have said a silent prayer of thanks.


	14. Chapter 14

Somewhere, somehow, he lost Bill. Charlie didn't know when and how, but suddenly, he was all alone. He was standing in the dark corridor, the torch in his hand the only source of fading light.

'This isn't right,' Charlie thought, feeling his heart beating wildly in his chest, skin covered in goose bumps. 'I shouldn't be here. We made it out, didn't we?'

For a flicker of a moment Charlie was sure this was just a dream. He shut his eyes, clenched his teeth and counted to ten. He told himself to wake up, bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood... yet when he opened his eyes, he was still there. In the asylum, in one of the corridors.

Charlie swallowed, fear gnawing at his insides painfully. Twisting and biting.

"Bill?" Charlie called out and his voice echoed down the corridor way too longer than it should.

"This isn't real," Charlie said, running a shaky hand over his hair. He could feel the grime under his fingers, crusted up blood and cobwebs. If this wasn't real... his mind did a very good job at convincing him of the opposite.

Did he really make it out? Wasn't Blake and Danny's arrival just a hallucination? What if he was still down there? Perhaps he went ahead and left Bill behind in the locker rooms. Perhaps...

Charlie turned around, raising the torch.

The staircase.

He was in the first corridor, the staircase behind him, filled with debris.

Charlie blinked, a horrible thought sneaking in.

What if everything was just a hallucination?

What if... what if Bill never made it out of the staircase?

'Or what if you are dead, and this will be the place you haunt forever?' said that little nagging voice.

Charlie shook his head, stumbling backwards into the wall.

No. No... that couldn't be right.

He wasn't dead. He didn't feel...

Charlie's mind flashed back to the car.

Blake was there, and Danny and Bill. They were all safe, driving to the hospital. Charlie was sure it had been real, because he remembered the pain... the agony that hit him... just before everything turned dark.

Could that mean...

Charlie whimpered, pushing his back against the wall. He felt the peeling paint and mould sticking against his uniform, felt the mortar underneath dug uncomfortably against his back.

How could he be dead and feel all that? How...

And the smell. It was still there, obtrusive and all encompassing, just like the darkness seemed to be. Mould, dust, sweat... things rotting. Underneath it, he caught a whiff of antiseptic, the smell of hospital, but that was quickly gone.

Only thing he was left with was the torch in his shaking hands and the feeling that the darkness was closing in on him. The feeling that the wall he was leaning against moved.

Charlie froze then scrambled away in panic.

It was a movement. A soft thump, accompanied by the dull sound.

"What the-" Charlie thought he might have gone round the bend. He pointed the torch at the place he occupied a second ago.

There was the wall. Nothing else. It was disgusting and ugly, but it didn't...

_Thump._

Charlie yelped and fell back, the torch rolling out of his hands.

The wall moved.

It was as if someone stood at the other side of the wall and smashed it with a heavy hammer. But the sound was dull and the movement was soft, almost like a ripple. Almost as if the wall was... alive.

No. No way in hell.

Charlie rolled over, grabbed the torch that was thankfully still shining and scrambling up to his feet started to run.

He had to get out.

This couldn't have been real. Either he was dreaming or he hit his head or breathed in some spores, but there was no way in hell that this was _real!_

He recognized the corridor, the rooms he was passing by, although he didn't dare to look inside. It was the same place he and Bill had walked down so slowly last time... if that happened at all.

_Thump_.

The walls around him rippled again.

Charlie gasped, his hands instinctively covering his head. It looked as if the walls were squeezing together, as if the blasted building was alive and he was walking deep inside its clogged veins. He could _feel_ the thump inside his head, behind his temples.

Inside his chest.

Charlie's feet were still careening him forwards, through the corridor that didn't seem to stay still. He was past the point of whimpering each time the thump came. It was coming in shorter intervals and if he paid it too much attention, he would have to start screaming. Charlie wasn't sure he would be able to stop.

"Bill!" he shouted, although he had little hope of finding his partner. But he knew the place, knew there was an elevator shaft and a locker room, just behind that corner. The corner that seemed to be getting farther and farther the faster he was running, until a sharp stab of pain in his side sent Charlie stumbling to the ground, gasping for breath and moaning.

Charlie put the torch down so he could wrap both his arms around his midriff, trying to stop the pain. He was sitting on his haunches, rocking and whimpering as another _thump_ sounded loud, the ground underneath rippling in unison.

"Bloody hell!" Charlie growled, the fear turning into anger, fuelled by the growing pain and desperation. "Stop it! Just fucking stop!" he screamed into nothingness.

_'Stop!'_ echoed around him and Charlie wanted to cry. _'Please, stop!'_

Charlie stopped. He stopped whimpering, he stopped rocking. For all purposes, he stopped breathing.

Because he never said please.

"Who..." he spoke, or tried to. His throat felt scratchy and raw as if he had been screaming all day, though he was sure he did not.

'Please, stop!' the words came again and Charlie thought they sounded male. Almost familiar.

A chill run down his spine.

Could there be someone else? Could it be Bill, trapped in these walls?

"Hello?" he called out, not even daring to hope. "Anyone here? Bill?"

Silence, then another _thump_ and Charlie felt as if the ground shook under his feet. Whatever was happening, it was speeding up. He didn't like it at all.

"Please? Help me!"

The voice sounded again, stronger and surprisingly closer. Definitely a man, but… Bill never pleaded or asked for help.

Charlie struggled back up to his feet.

He shone the light down the corridor but he barely saw few meters ahead. Perhaps the corner was right there, but it might've as well been miles away. He wouldn't know unless he resumed his walk.

What he could see, at the end of the light's reach though was another door. And if his hearing wasn't playing tricks on him, like everything else seemed to be, the voice came from inside that room.

Knowing full well he might regret it but unable to ignore the only other sign of human presence, Charlie slowly walked to the door.

He didn't even need his torch to shine at the sign on the wall to know where he was.

He did need the ever louder _thump_ to make him take the first step over the threshold however.

Charlie's chest heaved, his hands clenched so tight he thought he might've been leaving behind a trail of blood from nails breaking through skin.

"Hello?" he asked, though this came out as barely a whisper.

"Help me, please!" came the begging sound and Charlie spotted movement.

He stopped, shining his torch towards one of the bath tubs.

He was in the hydrotherapy room. It looked almost the same as when he and Bill...

Charlie shook his head, unsure what he could believe.

The tubs were there though. Rusty and decaying, with canvas sheets still attached to metal bars. Six tubs, all empty...

Charlie paused.

That wasn't true, not anymore.

One of the tubs held a person, he could see. The canvas sheet was firmly in place, but he spotted a dark, wet head peeking out from the opening of the canvas. It was just the top of a head and it came up only long enough for Charlie to catch sight of a pair of terrified eyes, before it sank back into the tub. Charlie stood there, frozen, waiting for the person... was it really Bill? Or was it someone else? To come up again, but there was no sign of that. He could hear the sound of water running, dripping and saw that one of the hoses was stuck under the canvas. The tub was starting to overflow. Whomever was inside... had no space to breathe.

His initial horror of the situation was replaced by fear.

He had to do something, he had to help!

Charlie's feet rushed over to the tub, first grabbing the hose and trying to dislodge it to stop the torrent of water. It was stuck however and Charlie cursed. He reached for the canvas, hoping to rip it off, but that didn't work either. The canvas was held in place by several well made knots. It would take too long to undo even one of them, not to mention more.

There was no time.

He saw some air bubbles ripple through the surface of the water and knew that was it, that was the last of oxygen the person had in their lungs.

_Thump._

Charlie cursed. He let the torch fall from his hand and stood right at the head of the tub with the opening. There was no other way.

He leaned over and reached into the cold water. And it was cold... like ice enveloping his arms. He leaned in forward, desperately reaching, trying to get hold of the man. Where was he? He should have felt something by now, he shouldn't have needed to reach more than few centimetres below the surface! The tub wasn't that large... yet he was almost shoulders deep in the ice cold water and it seemed like the tub was empty... but that couldn't be!

_Thump!_

The sound and shake of the floor was unexpectedly loud and violent.

Charlie startled and he lost his footing for a moment. His hands smacked against the sides of the tub, trying to right himself.

That little voice inside his head screamed at him to leave, leave right now!

Charlie didn't get the chance.

Two pale hands shot out from the dark water and grasped his wrists in a bone crunching hold.

Charlie let out a terrified scream.

He should've known better.

The hands tugged.

_THUMP!_

Everything shook and Charlie lost all semblance of stability. His hands slipped on the metal walls of the tub and as there was another tug, he felt himself toppling over.

Headfirst into the water.

Any kind of light vanished and Charlie's eyes closed against the icy water. He managed to close his mouth but didn't really have time to take in a deep breath. Even if he did, it would have left him surely as his whole body was encompassed in ice, the only warm spots his wrists. Those felt like burning, still trapped in someone's hold.

Charlie felt like he would go insane.

He couldn't breathe.

He trashed around, legs kicking, arms futilely pulling, trying to free themselves.

Nothing worked.

_Thump. Thump._

He managed to dislodge his right hand but that didn't help. He rolled over, he smacked and scratched but all he could feel were the walls of the tub and the thick, unmoving canvas atop of it.

His panic was turning into physical sensation. His insides were on fire, his chest now thudding in sync with the _thumping_ crescendo that was increasing in speed. He couldn't continue. There was no rescue in sight, only pain and misery. There was no air left in his lungs, the last of it escaping in a bubble of scream, rippling the surface.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thu-_

The sound cut off.

Charlie went still.

His chest...

His heart.

Everything went still... silent. Even the pain had stopped.

'I'm dead,' Charlie thought with strange calmness. There was no need to fight anymore. It was over.

Charlie's eyes opened, the water no longer bothering him. It was still dark. It was silent too. His body was floating, no longer being held down by non existent hands.

It was... peaceful... and utterly horrible.

Charlie didn't want it to end like this.

He didn't want to stay in this suspended state of nothingness, just floating in darkness. Not with his mind present.

Was this all there was?

Shouldn't there be pearly gates awaiting him? Shouldn't there be burning pits of hell? Something? Anything?

Charlie didn't want to die if death meant this. He would have preferred fear over nothing. He would have preferred pain-

As if in response to his prayer, his insides twisted. Charlie let out a surprised gasp, gurgling water as he curled into foetal position.

_Thump._

It was faint, but Charlie swore he could feel the vibration through the water. It felt almost as if it was coming from inside him.

Another sharp stab of pain and Charlie's foot kicked out, hitting the metal tub. Pain. He could feel that.

_Thump._

_'-lie!'_

There was a voice... a different one. It was muffled and coming from great distance, but Charlie could still recognize the desperation it was filled with.

_'Charlie! Don't you dare leave us!'_

'Dad?' Charlie thought and it was as if someone slapped him across the face. His father was dead. Who else would there be to welcome him to the other side?

_'Charlie! Please, come back!'_

_Thump._

There was a sharp pain in Charlie's chest. It felt as if someone hit him right on the sternum.

_Thump. Thump!_

Hands.

Fingers wrapped around his arms, squeezing tight. Pulling.

Images of his family rushed by in front of Charlie's eyes. His mother and brothers, playing on the beach. Rose, lying next to him on the grass during one of their picnics. Lawson, sitting behind the desk with a rare but all the more honest smile. Blake and Jean, settling down behind the dining table.

Friends and family, his past misdeeds and accomplishments. Loss and gain.

Everything there, then gone in a flash of light.

Charlie blinked.

Light.

He could see there was light behind his eyelids.

The hands were still tugging at his arms, pulling him towards the surface. Charlie opened his eyes and saw a shadowy figure above. He squinted. The image was blurry and confusing.

'Dad?' he thought, unable to ask.

His head broke through the surface.

_THUMP!_

His heart jumped, lungs screaming out for air.

Charlie blinked and the blurry face came into focus. The face was covered in surgical mask, but the eyes were clear and shiny. He knew those eyes.

This wasn't his father.

This was Blake.

He wasn't dead.

His eyes slipped closed and he knew no more.

* * *

Waiting.

Jean was always bad at it.

Oh, she could pretend it was fine, she could keep busy, but inside, it was pure torture. Right now, she was doing a half-ass job pretending, for the sake of Rose. Or perhaps for the sake of the poor police officers she was bombarding with questions, until they relented.

Jean couldn't even put up a scowl when Rose finally found out where Lucien and Danny were headed off. Though she did shake her head and grabbed Rose by the arm when she was about to call a bloody cab to get them there.

"Perhaps we should wait here?"

Rose scowled.

"If you want to stay, I'm not holding you back," she said harshly. "But I'm going to find out what happened to my uncle and Charlie."

Jean almost let her go. Almost.

"Wait, Rose. Please!"

Rose paused, even though she didn't seem all that patient.

"Lucien asked me to keep you here. Keep you safe, for Matthew's sake," she added quickly when she saw the storm clouding Rose's eyes. Now the anger was somehow diminished by a pout.

"I can take care of myself. And they might need help-"

"They were all armed, Rose. If we followed now, we might just pose a distraction."

"That didn't bother you when we came here and saved Danny now, did it?" Rose snapped back, pulling her arm out of Jean's hold and this time Jean couldn't come up with a better protest. Rose lifted her chin, as if in challenge but seeing Jean's shoulders drop, the smug look left her face.

"I just want to know, Jean," she said much softer.

Jean nodded and Rose smiled then turned to walk back towards the unfortunate officer who was trying to man the phone and coordinate with the newest arrivals, while also searching for some boxes they could use to try and salvage the mess in the office.

Rose used the moment he was talking to a constable that had just arrived bleary eyed and snuck to the phone to call the cab.

Jean waited for her in the hall when she heard the crackle of the radio apparatus and officer Lewis mentioning Matthew's name. She walked closer and listened, feeling profound relief at hearing that all three missing men were located and were mostly in one piece.

"Cab will be here in fifteen minutes," Rose spoke from behind and Jean jumped, startled.

"Lord, try not to scare me to death, will you?" she said, then smiled. "They found them. All three. They are alright," Jean couldn't but share the good news and Rose's eyes glinted, her mouth turning into a true smile. In the next moment Jean found herself enveloped in a strong hug.

"Thank you! That's wonderful! Are they alright? What happened?" Rose let out a barrage of questions while Jean chuckled and pulled back, shaking her head.

"I don't know anything else, Rose. I just overheard the radio and sergeant Lewis. Maybe we should ask him?"

Rose nodded and she was already pushing into the room, to the dismay of sergeant Lewis. After some wheedling, he basically just repeated what Jean already told her. Rose wasn't too happy with that and decided that they could still use the cab to go and meet them halfway. To which it was Lewis who protested.

"I can't allow you that, madam," he said and Rose raised a brow questioningly, arms on her hips. "Oh. And why not?"

Lewis blinked then stuttered.

"Well first, this is a police busine-"

"It's my uncle and best friend!"

"Nevertheless... they will be transporting back a possibly dangerous suspect. It would be rather unwise to approach them in such situation. I'm sure you understand, miss Anderson..."

Well, Rose didn't, but Jean at least managed to calm her down a bit.

"Why don't we wait for them here, Rose? We might actually take a different road and miss them altogether and that wouldn't be good," she said, a voice of reason.

Rose huffed, but acknowledged the smartness of it.

While they waited, a young police officer rushed past them towards Lewis. He looked taken aback, face paling. He gave a few shaky orders to the man who promptly left, then turned back towards the radio, squeezing it in his grip but not using it.

"What's going on?" Rose asked with suspicion but this time Lewis wasn't as forthcoming.

"The situation is under control," he muttered, waving them off then clicking on the radio. He started pestering Cunningham about a status update, voice still a bit too shaky for Jean's comfort. She shot a look at Rose and it was clear the younger woman was also suspicious. She was eyeing the door as if wanting to head out after the police officer that just left to find out what really happened, but the sounds from the radio stopped her.

Jean and Rose listened as Cunningham requested an ambulance for the injured. That was when Lewis grimly informed him about the failed attempt at rescue that caused the ambulance to swerve off the road and crash. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries but it seemed the hospital wasn't willing to risk anything.

Jean and Rose were following the situation with feelings of disbelief and growing worry. Who was hurt and was it bad?

A short while later there was the information that they will transport by their own means, but to inform the hospital.

Jean knew that wasn't good. If Lucien himself was asking to inform the hospital, that meant trouble.

A car horn blared in front of the building and she jumped, startled.

"The cab..." Rose said, though she seemed a bit unsure of what to do. They both wanted more than anything to drive out to the asylum and help, but Lucien was most likely already on the way to the hospital. Which was exactly where they should be going, Jean realized.

"Let's go," she said, taking hold of Rose's hand and gently nudging her towards the exit.

"Out a bit late ladies, aren't ya?" the cab driver asked as he saw them get inside his car. Jean shot him a glare and kept any comments to herself. "Where to?"

"Hospital," Jean said and felt Rose's form sag in the seat next to her.

That had been over an hour ago.

Almost half of that time was spent in waiting for Lucien to arrive. Rose and Jean were standing outside the hospital entrance, next to the door to keep some of the warmth but also to have a good view of the road. Every time they heard a car nearing, they tensed, squinting into the darkness.

Until Lucien's car appeared. Jean recognized it by the sound of the engine before it even turned the corner, or perhaps it was just her sixth sense. What she realized was that the car had been driving fast. It halted only few meters from the hospital entrance, breaks screeching.

Something was wrong.

Jean shot a look at Rose.

"Get the nurse!" she called out and rushed towards the car just as Danny jumped out of the driver's seat and rushed to the back door, totally ignoring her presence.

"Danny? What-" but she didn't finish. She saw her husband on the back seat holding tightly onto Charlie, who was making a sound she never wanted to hear again. She saw him arch his back then all the tension left his body as he sagged back on the seat. Unmoving, in her husband's arms.

There was a moment of utter stillness from all involved.

"Is he-" Danny spoke, his voice choked, eyes wide. His voice at least seemed to pull Blake from the strange trance. He put his visibly shaking fingers against Charlie's throat.

Jean waited.

It was only few seconds but it felt like eternity.

Blake let out a breath, shook his head.

"He's breathing. Just unconscious," he said and that seemed to get all of them into motion.

"Thank lord!" came from the front seat and Jean spotted a pale looking Bill, with his eyes locked on Charlie. Danny opened the door wide and leaned in, grabbing Charlie's feet.

"Wait, we need a stretcher-" Lucien spoke, but by then Rose had managed to warn the nurse and they already had a stretcher being pushed out from the hospital, along with an orderly.

Jean stepped aside, grabbing a wide eyed Rose and pulling her back as well.

"Wait. Let... let them help," she said, hoping Rose wouldn't notice how utterly shaken she was. The girl didn't hear Charlie's whimpers, wasn't there for what they all thought might've been his last breath. Jean was thankful for that at least.

What followed was a bit of a confusing mess and Jean wasn't sure she even took in everything. Charlie was whisked off, Lucien by his side. He managed to shoot her a reassuring smile, though seeing the worry in his eyes made it hard to believe. Jean grasped his arm as he passed by her and he gave her palm a strong squeeze before pulling away and vanishing behind one of the doors with Charlie.

That squeeze gave her enough strength to hold Rose back when she wanted to follow them.

"No, stay. We can't go in there," she said rather unnecessarily, as one of the nurse's shot them a glance, ready to step in if they so much as approached the door.

Rose wanted to protest, of course she did. But Danny appeared behind her. He stayed by the car until they loaded Bill into a wheelchair and pushed him past a different door. Jean barely noticed that and she felt a bit guilty for not paying much attention but she was still shaken from the scene in the car.

"Hey, come on. He'll be fine," Danny said, trying to sound reassuring, offering Rose his arms in a hug.

Rose blinked, only just realizing who was standing in front of her.

Jean should have warned him.

Well, he was a cop. He _should have_ expected it.

Nevertheless, Danny did not. When Rose walked up to him, she didn't fall into his embrace. There was a loud slap first.

"You bloody jerk! You took my keys!" she hissed angrily into Danny's stunned face, even as he was rubbing his flaming cheek.

"What?" he yelped, voice jumping an octave in surprise.

"Keys! How dare you! I had a right to go and see my uncle and Charlie!" she unleashed a barrage of rather unladylike words and Jean took a step forward, planning to stop her before she caught the ire of the head nurse, but Danny interfered first. Without warning, he pulled her into a hug, effectively shutting her up. Whether it was from surprise or the mere fact Rose had her face smashed against his chest was unclear.

Jean snorted.

Then laughed.

Danny cast her a worried look.

She couldn't help it. All the tension of the night, all the stress just hit her. The chuckles turned into something that sounded more like a sob and when even Rose turned to look at her worriedly, Jean took in a hitched breath. She ran a hand over her eyes, brushing off tears and shook her head.

"It's fine. Just nerves," she said and tried for a smile. Rose pulled out of Danny's embrace and went over to pull her into a hug. Jean returned it, soon feeling Danny's arms around them as well. They stood there for a while then broke up the embrace, trying not to look too awkward about it.

The waiting game followed.

A nurse had discretely but rather pushily showed them the way to the waiting hall, where they could sit down and stop being in the way. Jean knew that if Lucien hadn't been the one rushing in with Charlie, they would be kicked out of the hospital altogether. It was, after all, the middle of the night. But the nurse knew Lucien and must've taken pity on them. Jean didn't even know how, but soon they were sitting in the uncomfortable chairs, each holding a cup of tea or coffee.

The silence didn't last long of course. Danny had soon become the unwilling suspect of a third degree interrogation about everything that happened since he and Blake had left the station.

Getting caught up meant only that their worry increased though. Worry and concern over what the three men went through in that dilapidated building, the victim of some elaborate but badly thought out plan and what appeared to be fate and its cruel sense of humour.

By the time Danny divulged even the last bit of information he had at hand, Jean's tea was ice cold. She still took a sip, if only to do something. She knew the waiting haven't ended yet. What was worse, she knew what would follow. Minutes, perhaps even hours of staring at the door, dreading their opening as much as craving it. Waiting for Lucien to step out and tell them the good news... or bad.

Before they got any word on Charlie though, Matthew appeared and that at least made the tension a bit more acceptable.

He started asking about the situation, frowning when he learned Charlie hadn't been even conscious upon arrival. As if by silent agreement, neither Danny nor Jean mentioned what happened in the car, neither of them wanting to worry Lawson or Rose more than necessary. Though Matthew must've sensed something was amiss, as his glare focused on Danny.

"Anything happened I should know about, Parks?" he barked.

Danny shook his head.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Boss," Danny said and his tone clearly told Lawson to drop it. Which he did.

"What about Bill? Any word on him at least?"

The trio exchanged a look of embarrassment, because neither of them thought about the man.

Lawson rolled his eyes and headed towards the nurse's desk.

"Well, his leg is definitely broken. They are keeping him for the night, he's already settled in a room," he reported upon his return.

"Can we visit?" Jean asked, feeling more than guilty of not even thinking about Bill.

"No. The nurse told me they had to drug him up to take care of that leg, he's sleeping it off. It's way past visiting hours anyway."

The tone implied that perhaps they should all be heading home, seeing as there was no way they would be able to see Charlie before the morning, whatever the case.

Of course, Lawson didn't say it out loud. He looked at one of the empty chairs wistfully.

"Sit with us?" Jean offered but he shook his head with a grimace.

"I can't. I need to get back to the station, try to mitigate the damage," he said with a tired sigh. "And it is quite a mess," Lawson added, shooting them all a glare that clearly said they will have a word or two about it. Danny cringed, Jean gave him a nonplussed look and Rose lifted her chin, as if ready for a fight right now and here.

Lawson most definitely wasn't though. He looked weary, dirty and in need of some food.

"Perhaps you can go home for a bit first? We left you a plate in the fridge. Take a shower and change your clothes?" Jean advised kindly.

Lawson grimaced.

"I wish. Earliest I can see myself home is once those bastards that attacked the station are shipped off to Sydney. Which should be in about-" he looked at his watch and his face fell even more. "Eight hours. Splendid. Well, I need to go. Any news-"

"We will call the station," Jean said quickly.

"Do you need me to come with you, Boss?" Danny asked a bit hesitantly. It was obvious he wasn't too keen on spending the night at his old police station having to deal with an irate boss, but the idea of waiting in the hospital seemed even more dreadful.

Lawson must've read that from his posture, because he smirked.

"Nah. You're on vacation. Stay here... keep an eye on the ladies."

Once again, the 'make sure they're alright' was implied from the tone and Danny nodded. Jean had to hide a smile as she realized he thought this was the worse place to be.

About an hour later, Jean wished she could've left with Matthew. To be anywhere but here in this dull, too silent and hot waiting room. All they were doing was watching the clock on the wall tick away slowly, waiting to hear the footsteps approaching, seeing the door open. Several times it had been a false alarm.

Once, the nurse came to tell them that Dr. Blake asked her to let them know Charlie is in surgery and so far he's holding up.

That at least calmed them down a bit, but when the small arm of the clock moved to another hour without more information, the concern had grown.

Not for the first time, Jean wished she had something to do. If she was a smoker, she would be outside, puffing out the hot air while her skin was covered in goose bumps in the cold morning. She didn't smoke though, couldn't remember when she held a pack of cigs.

She would have loved to have her knitting with her, that might've passed the time. But she rushed out of the house ready for war, not the waiting game, so her knitting was home. Along with any good book. So she sat in the damn uncomfortable chair, trying to think about anything but what was happening behind that closed door.

Next to her, Rose was sitting in a similar chair, her head leaning on Danny's shoulder. Jean watched the two for a moment.

At first, they bickered, Rose still not forgiving Danny for taking her keys. But the bickering faded away and as Danny pulled Rose close to him, she let him. Jean was surprised to see that she seemed to be actually sleeping, or at least slumbering and Danny wasn't far from that either. Then she realized they both spent the day travelling and must've been tired even before all of this mess started.

She sighed and looked at the clock. Ten past three in the morning. She couldn't stop the yawn breaking through at the mere knowledge of the late hour.

Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a moment, nothing would happen.

There were footsteps. With her eyes closed, she could focus on the sound. It was a familiar pattern, one that she knew well.

Her eyes shot open and she stood so quickly that her chair made a clanking sound.

"Wha-?" Rose startled, along with Danny.

The door opened and out stepped Lucien.

He looked tired, eyes rimmed red. She hoped it was from the glare of the light and not from crying. She dearly hoped so.

He stopped a few feet from them, hands in the air... and his lips turned up.

Even before he opened his mouth, Jean knew.

"He will be alright," Lucien said as Jean rushed at him to finally pull him into her embrace after the hours of waiting and worrying. He returned it, plopping a reassuring kiss on the top of her head as she let out a relieved chuckle. Behind her, Rose and Danny stood and approached, a dozen of questions spouting from their mouths.

For a moment, Jean pushed them out, focusing only on the feel of her husband's arms around her, holding on tight. On the sound of his heart beating strong and familiar by her ear. And the fact the worst of the waiting was over.

* * *

Waking up didn't use to be this hard.

On good days, Charlie's inner alarm went off before the alarm clock could start its wild ringing. He would get up with a grunt, but the world usually started making sense before he even reached the bathroom. What sleep lingered tended to vanish as soon as he stepped out into the crisp morning air for his run. He was what his brother Ray disdainfully called an early bird.

Thus it was with much confusion that Charlie had to fight his way back to consciousness as if he was swimming through molasses.

First thing he saw was Blake.

The man looked like he hadn't slept for a week, which was ridiculous because it was only the morning of next day. At least that's what he told Charlie when he asked, groggy and feeling as if something drained the life out of him.

"What... what happened?" he asked once Jean spoon-fed him a bit of crushed ice and he would have protested heavily, hating to be so helpless, but he couldn't find the strength for it. Even just moving his head was a chore.

When Jean's hand brushed the hair off his forehead, Charlie could only sigh and rest his eyes for a bit.

That bit ended up to be several hours. Charlie slipped into restless sleep. He didn't dream at first, or he didn't remember it anyway. All he knew was the feeling of being watched, of someone standing right behind his back. It didn't let him rest properly and when he came to the second time, it was with a bit of a start.

It was the middle of the day, he could tell as much from the light coming through the window at the end of the room. He looked around blearily, struggling to remember where he was or what got him there in the first place, trying to shake the feeling that he was trapped in some dark place. All he knew was that he was still too tired to do much more than squirm on the narrow bed. It was a far cry from his soft, big bed he had at Blake's house and that drove home the fact he was not home. Looking to his left he noticed another bed. It wasn't occupied and the room was otherwise empty.

Charlie frowned, moving his hand to try and rub the sleep from his eyes. He felt a tug of a needle in his arm. One look told him it was attached to a bag with clear liquid. Charlie unwittingly ran his tongue over parched lips. Damn, but he was thirsty.

Remembering Jean and the ice chips, Charlie moved his head up and about. His eyes caught sight of a glass with a spoon and water, or what might've been the ice chips at one point. Great. All he needed was to find someone to hand it to him... or take it himself.

He shot a look towards the door.

He could hear movement behind it, could even occasionally spot a figure passing by, but no one peeked inside the room. Charlie was a patient man, but he was also bloody thirsty. Trouble was, the more he thought about it, the more he needed to get that glass.

After what felt like an hour but was most likely barely a minute or two, Charlie had enough. He felt childishly annoyed and hurt by the fact there was no one there, even though normally he would hate for people to see him so helpless. But he was just too miserable to think clearly and let the emotions drive him. Well, at least it gave him some of the energy he needed to move.

He could do it. All he had to do was carefully roll over to the left, keeping his bruised or broken ribs supported by the pillow that was pressed against his side and reach over with the needle free arm to grab the glass. Should've been easy. For goodness sake, he was up and about with three broken ribs before. He surely didn't need to be attached to a bed now.

A moment later, as he was curled up, both arms wrapped around his midsection and face pressed against the pillow, breathing through gritted teeth, he realized that perhaps there was something else amiss.

He had a sudden flashback to the car drive and the growing misery, of Blake's arms wrapped around his torso being the only thing keeping him rooted to the reality. At the time he wasn't sure it was worth it.

As he was contemplating whether to press his nose against the pillow and use the lack of oxygen to knock himself out, the door to the room opened. There were hurried footsteps and a hand touched his chin to turn his head.

"Whoa mate, don't do that! Damn, I leave to grab some coffee with the cute nurse and you go and try to suffocate yourself? Not cool, Charlie. Not cool," Danny kept talking, sounding almost nervous.

Charlie grunted in response, shooting Danny something that might've been a glare.

"Alright there? Do I need to call the nurse or something?" Danny asked uncertainly.

Charlie gave it a thought, but shook his head instead. He wasn't sure what had happened but knew the nurse would most likely not tell him anyway. He seemed to ignore the fact she might actually help with the pain.

"You sure buddy?" Danny asked, looking doubtful. Charlie made a face at the familiarity. He was cool with Danny calling him mate, but buddy? Really? That was usually reserved for a younger kid. Charlie most definitely didn't want to be patronized right now.

Danny seemed to catch on though because he snickered.

"Don't like being called that?"

"Not really," Charlie said and grimaced once again, this time at the scratchy quality of his voice and the foul taste in his mouth. That, more than anything, reminded him of his original quest for the glass of water.

"Alright, I will stop calling you that, as long as you stop scaring the shit out of me."

"Huh?" Charlie felt a bit lost. What the hell was Danny talking about?

"You don't remember the car ride?"

Charlie gave a half shrug, wincing. The pain in his midriff was slowly abating as he stayed still. Perhaps that was the key... not to move. At all.

Of course, he was stuck in a rather undignified and slightly uncomfortable position, so staying still wasn't an option.

"I thought I killed ya when the car ran over that pothole and you fainted dead away," Danny kept talking, while Charlie was trying to very slowly and very carefully return to his original position on his back. Why the hell was he so weak and why did his insides feel so... tender?

"-then you started trashing around like a fish on sand-"

"What?" Charlie jumped in, feeling rather confused by Danny's diatribe. Also what the hell? He didn't remember any of it. Well, perhaps the fainting... Charlie felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment when he recalled Bill's teasing words in the car. That brought back the whole night and with it the realization there was so much more happening he didn't have a clue about.

Yet that still changed nothing about his blood awful weakness or the thirst.

"Can you-" he tried as he finally managed to get himself back on his back. Danny cast him an expecting look and Charlie suddenly wished Jean was here. Or the Doc.

"Where are... the others?" he asked, trying not to sound put off or needy.

"What, my presence is not enough?" Danny said, looking hurt. Charlie opened his mouth but Danny shook his head with a smirk.

"Joking. Relax. Uh... let's see. Jean and the Doc are home, getting some food and rest. Jean said they would stop by in the afternoon, bring you some stuff so you don't die of boredom here. Unless you decide to play your cards ... I think one of the nurses might fancy you. I'm pretty sure I can convince her to give you a sponge bath or something," Danny smirked while Charlie gave him a horrified look.

"Do that... and die... Parks," he growled, to which Danny just snorted.

Charlie would have persuaded the matter, because he saw the glint in the man's eyes, but he honestly didn't have the energy for that. Though he did feel a bit calmer at knowing Jean and Blake would be around. As long as he managed to be awake for that, he would most likely get all the answers he needed.

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine today," Danny commented, though it was clear he wasn't taking it personally.

Charlie fought back the urge to flip him the bird and go to sleep until someone more mature happened to come over. But by then he might actually die of thirst. He glanced to his left at the glass just out of his reach. Danny followed his gaze.

"Thirsty?"

Charlie unconsciously ran his tongue over his lips and nodded slightly, trying not to look desperate.

Danny handed him the glass and helped him into a semi-sitting position. Charlie wasn't sure quenching his thirst was worth the discomfort, but the moment the water touched his lips he changed his mind.

Danny didn't laugh at him or comment on his shaky hands and Charlie was grateful for that.

"Enough?" was all he said when Charlie finished.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No problem. Next time you want help, just use the bell, alright?" Danny nodded towards the small bell lying on the bedside table and quickly put it on the bed, within Charlie's reach. "There's usually someone within earshot and a nurse is bound to check in on you once every while."

Charlie grunted. He wanted to ask Danny what really happened at the station or what was wrong with him, but with his most pressing need satisfied, Charlie's eyes begun to drop on their own accord.

He expected Danny to bid his goodbye as he yawned, but the man had just flopped down into a chair. Charlie blinked. He haven't noticed the chair before, nor the magazine that had been sitting on it, indicating that someone was there.

"Staying?" Charlie asked, wondering.

"Uh huh. For a bit."

"Why?"

Danny looked up from his magazine.

"Well, if you must know... if I leave now, Jean will want me to help out with lunch or something. I know her. She tends to keep busy whenever someone's hurt and if I'm around, she will keep me busy as well."

Charlie blinked. He wasn't sure Danny was right, though to be fair he was usually at work, trying to figure out who tried to kill Blake again this time, or often times the one being in harms way. In either case, he didn't think Danny would try to run away from Jean, especially since he was in town only for the weekend. His doubt must've been apparent, because Danny rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Alright. One of your nurses is an old friend... she agreed to catch up during her lunch break. So... I suppose I'll be staying around for a bit still," he said with a smirk.

Charlie snorted.

"Knock yourself out," he wanted to say, though it was mostly lost in a yawn. Worn down, he fell asleep to the sound of Danny scanning through the magazine pages and softly humming something off tune.

Charlie wished he could've slept longer, but it seemed the nurses around had a different idea. Next time he opened his eyes Danny was gone, but there was a middle aged nurse taking his vitals. Charlie's first instinct was to pull away and protest such familiarity without a warning, but he quickly learned the nurse didn't have much patience for recalcitrant patients. She most definitely wasn't Danny's 'chosen one', he thought grimly.

He wanted to ask her what was the time so he at least knew how much time had passed and whether he could still expect Blake or any other visitors. But the moment he opened his mouth, she slipped in a glass thermometer and told him to stay quiet. While Charlie frowned in protest, she went one step farther. Using his silence, she pulled the blanket covering him down to his hips. Charlie's eyes widened and he reached for it automatically, but she just huffed and rolled her eyes at his 'antics' as she called it.

Charlie wasn't amused, but his possible embarrassment was forgotten the moment the nurse rolled up the flimsy hospital gown he was sporting and he got his first look at his torso.

Charlie almost snapped the thermometer in half as the nurse peeled off the bandage from his upper abdomen. He just now realized his ribs weren't actually wrapped and that might've been why moving around was so uncomfortable. As soon as the bandage was off though, he saw the fresh, angry looking scar across his abdomen.

Charlie blinked, staring at the wound and trying to comprehend how it got there.

"What-" he started but the nurse shot him a glare.

Charlie stayed silent, though not because he got frightened. Rather, the words weren't coming to him. He flinched as the nurse started checking the wound, pressing down very lightly near the edges.

"Painful?" she asked and Charlie was surprised to hear her voice was almost soft, caring. He gave a nod, his right hand reaching up to touch the fresh scar as if in a dream. The nurse's gentleness was gone though as she pushed the hand away.

"Don't touch it! Last thing you need is an infection, because your hands aren't sterile," she admonished and promptly changed the gauze, squeezing something squishy and cold on top of it before reapplying a fresh bandage. She pulled the gown back down and the blanket up. Then she checked the thermometer, humming and writing something down on a chart.

Charlie finally found his voice.

"What's... wrong with me?" he asked before the nurse could actually leave.

She raised her eyes from the chart, looking slightly taken aback.

"Nothing is wrong, Mr. Davis," she spoke reassuringly. "Your condition is acceptable after such a surgery-"

The nurse kept talking but Charlie's mind tuned her out, too busy trying to put together the reason why would someone cut him open like a fish. For a couple of broken ribs? That made no sense.

"Are you listening to me, young man?"

"Huh?" Charlie blinked and the nurse sighed.

"As I was saying, the doctor will stop by and answer all questions during the evening rounds. In the meantime, I'll bring you some pain medication and a bit of soup for lunch. You better eat that to build up strength then get some rest. Sleep is the best medicine after all," she added with a chuckle.

It was several hours later that Charlie finally got some clear answers to most of his questions. Blake had stopped by along with Jean, who brought him a bag of clothes, hygienic products and a few books. She was unpacking it for him, while Charlie was attempting to wake up fully. Whatever the nurse gave him after lunch seemed to have knocked him out and if not that, then the trip to the loo finished him off. He had to fight back a yawn as he watched Jean put the clothes into a small closet nearby.

"How are you feeling, Charlie?" Blake asked after he took a peek at his chart attached to the end of the bed.

"Like I'm... missing something," Charlie said. He truly meant memories or some peculiar detail. Not as Blake stated "Well, you're missing a spleen and couple pints of blood, so that's perhaps understandable."

Charlie thought he might've been missing also some brain cells, because once again all he managed was a confused 'huh?'.

Fortunately, there was Jean and she seemed to catch on to his confusion better than Blake. She shot her husband a glare, most likely for being so blunt.

"Charlie dear, did no one talk to you yet?" she asked as she stepped up to his bed and brushed a hand over his hair. Charlie let out a breath and shook his head. Before she could get angry about it though, Charlie sheepishly added: "Maybe. I don't know..."

He sighed then winced. Really, he was feeling like an idiot, like he was still stuck somewhere in the darkness, trying to find his way out.

"I was sleeping, most of the day," he admitted as Blake pulled up a chair to sit on the other side.

"That's quite alright, Charlie. You lost a lot of blood, it will take some time for your body to replenish that. Even with the transfusions."

Charlie grimaced. It seemed the more he knew, the worse it was.

"But... why?"

Blake shrugged.

"You must've gotten hurt during that fall."

Charlie shook his head.

"Wouldn't I've felt bad right then?"

"I doubt you were feeling all that good, but adrenaline can do a lot," Blake argued with a smile. Charlie had to agree with that.

"In any case, all the activity, pulling Bill around or climbing a rope didn't help. I'm sorry Charlie, but by the time we got you on the table it was safer to take out the spleen than trying to repair it. We almost lost you anyway," Blake added, his voice a bit choked and Charlie felt a shiver run down his spine. Blake's eyes, the worry in them, seemed awfully familiar.

Charlie swallowed, resting one hand on his side gingerly.

He had seen the wound and knew it would leave a nasty scar. Right now, that didn't even hit him. He knew logically it might look bad in the future, but Charlie wasn't vain. And he was a cop. Getting injured had always been a possibility at least, so albeit with reluctance, he came to terms with the chance he would one day face that risk and have to deal with scars.

What made his stomach churn in worry was something else. Something much more frightening.

"Will I be allowed back to work?" he asked, voice shaking slightly.

"Oh Charlie, don't you worry about that now," Jean said, reaching out and pulling him into a gentle hug. Charlie wanted to burrow himself into those arms, to push the thoughts about failed future out of the way and just listen to Jean, but he couldn't. He returned her embrace, but he kept his eyes on Blake, expecting the truth.

The man returned the look, not flinching away. Charlie thought he wouldn't even breathe, until he saw the reassuring nod.

"It might take a few weeks, but you should be back to bugging Matthew in no time," Blake spoke and it was only then that Charlie let out a choked sigh and pushed his face into Jean's shoulder, filled with relief.


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**

Walking with crutches was so much harder than it looked when some other poor soul hobbled on them. Bill had the added complication of trying to keep the flowers from coming to harm as he navigated the narrow, cobbled road.

It took him a while to find the place. He hasn't visited it for quite some time and he partially dreaded of what he might find. Did anyone take care of it during all those years? What if it was gone? Could he even find it in this bloody labyrinth?

Finally, his eyes caught the familiar name on the headstone and he came to a halt.

This was it. His mother's grave.

Bill swallowed the huge lump in his throat. He looked around, as if worried to have any witnesses, but the graveyard was mostly empty. It was just past lunchtime on a Monday. Most people had better things to do than visit the cemetery it seemed.

Once there was no visible reason for him to balk, he slowly hobbled the few steps forward and came to a stop right in front of the headstone. He leaned the crutches against the next over grave, ignoring the fact it might've been disrespectful. Right now, all he cared for was the name on this headstone, the woman lying beneath it. The resentment he felt towards her all these years, the pain of having to go through her loss, all of it coming to the surface with vengeance.

Bill felt the pressure in his sinuses, the stuffed nose and the burning in his eyes.

Allergies, he thought.

One hand with the flowers brushed at his face, the other swept the cobwebs and dust from the headstone, the dead leaves from the ground in front of it, so he could gently place down the flowers.

"I'm so sorry," he muttered as he went down to kneel on his uninjured leg, letting the casted one lie awkwardly beneath him.

"I should have believed you."

All this time, Bill thought his father was right. Even though he loved his mother dearly and wanted to believe she wasn't crazy, her death served as proof of his father's words. All the disdain of the past, all the sneaky comments about 'being on a holiday' or 'enjoying her spa day' just drove in how much his father put down his mother.

Bill tried to ignore those words, but being a child it planted a seed of doubt in his heart. Despite the fact he saw the empty look in his mother's face every time she came home. He should have known better.

Yet, he did not.

All those years, he didn't want to admit, but he thought her weak too.

Until he had the misfortune of visiting the bloody asylum.

It might not have been the one his mother frequented, but he had a feeling it wasn't any less scary. Being a woman, alone in a place like that, stuck with other emotionally unstable people, being tied down and 'treated' in one of those rooms...

Just the thought of it made Bill's stomach turn.

He was thankful for the sparse breakfast and the fact the cemetery was empty, as he forced down a sob of regret.

In this moment, he hated his father more than anything.

In this moment, his biggest regret was not getting the chance to tell his mother how sorry he was for everything.

Something wet landed on his hand, the one still laying on the bouquet of flowers. He hitched in a breath then looked up at the sky, expecting to see clouds.

It was sunny.

Blinking, Bill reached up to brush at his burning eyes. He felt wetness under his fingers and stilled. There were tears running down his cheeks, tears he wasn't even aware of.

Bill hadn't cried for a long time. His father didn't allow tears in the house and later on, even living alone, Bill thought it right and kept to it. The only times he allowed tears to flow were when drunk off his ass, usually after a funeral of a friend.

This time he did not have that excuse. No one had died, even though they were bloody close to it.

Bill shook his head. He didn't want to think about the asylum or his mother anymore. All he wanted was to go home, get drunk and sleep until the damn cast was off his leg.

That was actually his plan for the next few days, seeing as he was on medical leave anyway. Before he could do that though... he owed someone a visit.

By the time he got back up to his feet and crutches, the tears had almost dried up. As he cast one last look at the headstone and hobbled out of the cemetery, he felt just a bit lighter on his feet.

* * *

Out of all people, Bill really didn't expect to be almost knocked off his feet by Rose Anderson. Yet, there she was, swinging the hospital door as if there was a fire.

Bill cursed and leaned against the wall, while Rose started apologizing. She paused momentarily as she recognized him.

"Oh, Sergeant Hobart! I really didn't mean to-"

Bill raised a hand, waving her off with a grimace.

"Stop with the bloody blithering," he snapped, really not in the mood for that. He just wanted to get this visit out of the way, didn't need Lawson's niece in his face for that.

Rose paused and the look of remorse quickly vanished from her face, replaced by some irritation.

'Great,' Bill thought. 'Now she will start in on me.' Bill wondered if he could just press by her and somehow escape this unplanned meeting, but she was standing fast in his way. Perhaps he could make her move on her own accord. All it needed was a bit of Hobart charm.

"Where were you heading, Anderson? Rushing to start another fire?"

Rose's eyes narrowed and she looked at him askance.

"I most definitely did not start that fire. Though I helped to put some out, while you were off wandering abandoned buildings."

Bill cringed inwardly then felt a cold chill run down his spine. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Rose. Did she know?

One of the reasons Bill was here right now was to try and figure out if his impromptu moment of truth he shared with Davis wasn't a mistake. At the moment, trapped and injured down in that damned place, sharing his past brought relief. But that had evaporated as soon as he was back home, the daylight streaming through his windows. At home, he cursed himself a fool and tried to convince himself that Davis knew better than to blab it out. Surely, the man had some sense of honour and wouldn't spill Bill's secret.

The trouble was, Bill knew Davis and Anderson used to be an item. He was also more than aware of the fact that he might've been the cause of the man's worsening injuries. After all, the man asked him to get in the bloody wheelchair. Instead, Bill's pride won over and he forced Davis to drag him around. If the bloody fool had told him...

Bill shook his head. This was not the place. He would have to address Davis face to face and resolve the issue, before the man could cause some damage. Bill just hoped he didn't already.

"Well, I would 'love' to chat, but I need to go. There is an article to be written," Rose smiled, pulling Bill out of his thoughts. He startled, looking at her, trying to figure out what she meant. Surely, Davis wouldn't hate him this much?

"What?" Bill let out, sounding off even to his own ears. The smile on Rose's face turned into a concerned frown.

"Are you alright, sergeant? You look a bit pale. Oh, I hope I am not keeping you from a check-up!"

Bill shook his head before he could go along with it.

"No that's... I just came to visit."

Rose smiled again.

"Oh, that's great! Charlie should be still awake. He will be happy for a visit, he was already asking about you."

Bill was once again taken aback.

"He was?"

"Yes," Rose replied easily, either ignoring or not noticing Bill's apprehension. "He wanted to know how your leg was. I hope it is healing well?"

"Uh... yes," Bill replied, still taken aback. Based on her tone and words, Bill had a feeling that Davis hasn't told her anything. Which was good.

Rose must've sensed he wasn't in the mood to keep up the pep talk or she felt about as uncomfortable as him, because she gave him a tight smile and a nod.

"Good, that's good. It was nice to see you, sergeant. Once again, sorry for slamming into you."

Bill waved her off and grumbled something incomprehensible then headed inside. It was time to face Davis.

It took him a bit to locate Charlie's room. Once at the nurse's desk, Bill decided it might be a good idea to check on his other two colleagues as well. That way, no one could accuse him of 'caring' for Davis.

He quickly found out that Peter Thompson had already been released. That left John Kelly. Bill's visit was short as the man was fighting off the effects of the heavy concussion. Bill left the room quickly, feeling a surge of anger towards the bastards that dared to attack the station. He had been caught up on all that happened during that bloody night and wished he could turn back the time. If he only ignored the call and headed back... Bill would have gladly beaten the crap out of the bastards. Admittedly, he knew it most likely wouldn't have helped and he would either be lying in the bed next to Kelly or in the morgue. During the night he was also plagued by nightmares of the place, waking up in cold sweat at the thought that Lawson and Davis wouldn't have taken the call. If they just ignored it... he would have entered the asylum alone. The mere idea of going through all of that alone had sent him rushing to the bathroom.

No, however worried Bill was about Davis spilling the beans and ridiculing him or holding a grudge, he couldn't stop feeling thankful for his presence at the time.

Thus it was with mixed feelings when he knocked on the door of the room the nurse indicated.

"Come in," came the familiar voice and Bill entered. There were two beds, but both were unoccupied. He swept the room and saw Davis sitting in a chair by the window, a pillow pressed against his side and still looking pale as a ghost.

"Bill?" the man asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah. Sorry to disappoint, Davis," Bill said a bit snappishly. Charlie seemed to ignore the tone though as a smile appeared on his face. Bill took it as an invitation and hobbled inside the room. He looked around but found that the only chair was occupied by Davis. So he sat down on the bed that clearly didn't have an occupant.

"Not disappointed," Charlie said with a breathy smirk as he squirmed on the chair. "Glad to see you, actually."

Bill just raised an eyebrow in doubt.

"Uh... what's the time?" Charlie asked hopefully and Bill told him, a bit confused at the disappointed look on the man's face.

"What... are you expecting someone?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Nah. Just hoped I could get back to bed."

"I'm not stopping you," Bill said with a snort, looking down and making sure the bed he was sitting on wasn't Charlie's.

"I know," Charlie sighed. "The Doc wants me up and about several times a day. Something about ribs and pneumonia," Charlie waved it off with disgust. It was clear sitting up wasn't the most comfortable for him, but Bill wasn't going to argue with doctor's advice. He shrugged.

"You're still looking better than in the car," he said and smirked when Charlie looked away in embarrassment. Perhaps there was some teasing material right there, Bill thought, but quickly sobered. He could hardly fault the man for fainting from blood loss while hauling his ass to safety and then expect him to keep silent about his own secrets.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them. Bill knew he should speak up, to just... get his shit together, thank the man for saving his ass and leave before the situation turned even more awkward. But he couldn't find the right words. He was never good at showing his appreciation. Or perhaps he never had reason to before.

"Uh... so... how are the others?" Charlie broke the silence and Bill looked at him with confusion.

"Others?"

"Yeah. I heard... Peter and John got hurt too?" The worry was clear on Davis' face and Bill wondered if no one had spoken to the man. But that was hardly the case.

"Thompson is home and Kelly is... doing better. He doesn't remember all that much from the night."

"Lucky man," Charlie muttered under his breath and Bill wondered whether the man was also plagued by nightmares like him. If he should judge by the dark smudges under his eyes he would say yes. But he wouldn't ask.

"And uhm... how are you?"

Bill blinked. Wasn't he supposed to be the one to ask that question? Right, but that would mean he would actually have to open his bloody mouth instead of sitting silently in another man's sick room.

"It's fine," he snapped back then cringed. He was getting annoyed by his own inability to act, but that was hardly an excuse to snap at Davis. "Look, I just came to say I'm..."

He stopped.

Charlie was eyeing him with some level of curiosity, but also weariness. Bill grimaced, looking at the window instead. Damn the man. Did he have to look so bloody... benign?

Bill wasn't sure what he was expecting. Recriminations, anger... derision? Not acceptance, understanding and what... concern?

He shook off that thought and took in a breath then before he could change his mind, he choked out:

"Thanks. That's... uh... that's all."

He chanced a look at Davis.

The man blinked, still kind of curious and a bit confused.

"Uh... okay?" Davis said, a slight frown forming on his forehead. "What... what for?"

Bill let out a huff. Of course he wanted more. It was never enough, just to say thanks it seemed. Not with his father, not with Davis. Bill was starting to feel the growing irritation.

"What, you want a list?" he barked.

Charlie flinched, a look of hurt passing his face and Bill felt instantly bad. Damn, he wanted to show appreciation, not snap at the man.

"Sorry. I'm..." Bill huffed. "This is bloody hard!"

Charlie watched him sheepishly.

"It's alright. I just... wasn't sure. Things are a bit... hazy. Frankly... I'm not sure half the stuff that happened that night was even real. That place..." Charlie shivered then shook his head, his face scrunched up in disgust.

"I'm not sure things were real either," Bill admitted and he hoped to hell that the night had been just a pain induced hallucination. He wasn't sure he could live with the alternative. Those moments he was alone in the shaft, the movement of shadows, the feeling of something reaching for him from down below...

He shuddered.

Pushing the thoughts back with all his will, Bill turned back to Charlie. The man seemed to be paler than before and Bill was starting to worry that this visit would be of more harm than good.

"You okay there Davis? Or should I get the nurse?" he asked, trying not to show too much concern, but also not come off as a total ass.

Davis shook his head.

"Not. It's... fine. I'm fine."

Bill doubted it but who was he to argue. He knew if the tides were turned, he wouldn't ask for help either. Perhaps all the man needed was a moment to get his bearings.

Bill used the time to look around the room. There were some flowers, a half read book from A. C. Doyle on the bedside table, but that was about it. Davis wasn't hooked to anything now but Bill could see the needle marks littering the man's arms, dark bruises against pale skin. He turned his eyes away. Davis was fine. He survived, like always. Though Bill was somehow surprised he wasn't being pampered by a barrage of people. He had a feeling that almost dying would entail at least a visit from his family? But he didn't see any sign of the Davis matriarch having been around.

"Where's your family?" Bill asked out loud somehow offhandedly.

Charlie gazed at him then looked around the room as if someone would pop out from the closet.

"Uh... I'm not sure. The Doc and Jean were there in the morning... and Rose just left. Danny is back in Melbourne..."

"I meant your _mother_ and brothers," Bill said, looking at Charlie as if he was an idiot.

Charlie blinked and blushed.

Bill thought the colour looked much better on him than the ghostlike appearance. Perhaps he could just keep embarrassing the man for his own comfort. Yes, that might work.

"Uh... they couldn't come," Charlie said, looking away.

Bill raised a brow. Since when did Shirley Davis not come when her son was hurt?

"Did you even call them?" he asked, still in slight disbelief. He would've dropped the topic, but he had just come from his mother's grave. Somehow it made him more sensitive, he supposed. Or emotional.

Charlie shook his head.

"It's not like that. Mum wanted to come, but... she had a cold or something."

"So?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Seems like when one loses a spleen, it makes them more susceptible to those," Charlie rattled off, once again looking embarrassed. And Bill understood. He could read Charlie's face like his own in that moment.

Having to come to accept a loss of an organ, however unimportant it was. Almost dying because some idiots decided to rescue another idiot. As if it wasn't enough, now he couldn't even get the comfort from his mother, because it was deemed 'dangerous'. Bill wanted to say he understood, but knew that wouldn't help. Dwelling on it was useless.

"Well, I'm sure Blake and Jean will make up for the absence anyway. At least we will have a few calm days without a murder case."

That startled Charlie right out of his funk as he looked up, glaring.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"As if you didn't notice?" Bill teased.

"What?"

"Every time a Davis or a Beazley come to town, there is a new body. It's getting rather tedious," Bill said with a smirk.

Charlie blinked, ready to protest, but paused. Then he snorted, shaking his head in amusement.

"I would argue... but you're right," he said with a smile.

The mood had eased somehow and Bill thought that was it. Mission mostly accomplished. He had originally planned to breach the subject of their conversation inside the asylum, but now he thought better of it. He was sure Davis hadn't told anything to Anderson. Perhaps the man had already forgotten, too lost in his own experience. It would be useless to stir the water.

Feeling that he had said what he wanted to, Bill reached for his crutches to stand.

"Leaving already?" Charlie asked and there was a look of disappointment on his face.

Bill blinked, taken aback. He didn't think Davis would be so desperate for company as to feel disappointed by his leaving. He felt almost bad for the man. It was against his better judgment, but he said:

"Unless you need something?"

Bill was thinking along the lines of handing him a glass of water or calling the nurse. He didn't expect Davis to perk up and shoot him a hopeful look.

"Actually..." Davis started, pausing. His fingers drummed against the pillow he was holding against his stomach.

"Spill it out," Bill nudged gruffly.

"What's happening at the station?" Charlie blurted out so fast Bill thought he misheard.

"What?"

Charlie huffed and repeated the question, this time slower. It was the same one.

"Don't tell me Lawson hadn't stopped by yet," Bill commented, a bit flabbergasted. He knew their boss could be an asshole, but Davis was his golden boy. After what happened at the asylum, Bill really doubted Lawson would ignore the man all these days. Not unless something seriously pissed him off.

Davis got a strange look on his face. It was a mix of embarrassment and annoyance.

"He did. He stops by every morning, before work," Charlie admitted and Bill raised a brow.

"Then why don't you ask him?"

Charlie shrugged, looking close to pouting.

"He's a bit pissed. Refuses to talk about anything work related. I think he also forbid the Doc or Jean, because they always hedge my questions."

Bill couldn't help it, he laughed.

It was refreshing not to be the one on Lawson's blacklist and seeing the look on Davis' face just made it hundred times better. Oh, how he wished he could've been here when the boss stopped by.

"What the hell did you manage to do to piss him off in a hospital?" He was truly curious.

Davis now just looked annoyed and clearly regretted saying anything.

"Hell if I know," he muttered.

Bill gave him a dubious look and Davis relented.

"He might've asked if I was alright... back at the asylum. I might've... lied."

Bill snorted.

Of course he lied. Who wouldn't have? Not like Lawson could've done much else there... well, perhaps they might've waited a bit longer. Blake and Parks would've arrived and... but that kind of thinking was useless. They could've hardly known what was going to happen.

And for once... Bill was thankful. If Charlie told the truth, Lawson most likely would have left Bill down there until help arrived. And it was surely selfish, but Bill was thankful that he didn't have to spend even a second longer down in that shaft, alone. Even though it might've caused Charlie's state to turn worse... Bill couldn't help it. He was glad he got out.

In lieu of that... telling him something Lawson forbid was a very small price to pay.

"Alright," Bill said with a sigh and let the crutches rest against the bed.

"Alright?" Davis looked him dubiously.

"Yeah," Bill rolled his eyes. "Least I can do I suppose for helping me out."

Davis looked as if he realized the same thing and Bill was half expecting him to recant the request so that he can later come up with something much worse. Of course this was Davis, the guy who could've dropped his ass anytime but didn't.

"Great. So... can you tell me?"

"What exactly?" Bill asked with growing apprehension as he saw the glint in his eyes.

"Everything. Whatever you heard happened while we were gone... or what is going on now."

Bill sighed. Wonderful.

With some nudging from Charlie's part, Bill recounted whatever he heard about the happenings at the station. He also didn't have the whole picture, still unable to get his hands on a succinct report. Though he was sure he would grab one as soon as Lawson let him come to the station.

It seemed that Davis wasn't the only one kept out of the picture for the moment. The one time Bill tried to hobble into the station, he was not so politely kicked out by Lawson. There was a crew fixing up the main office, a couple of coppers working in the smaller office nearby trying to sort out all the case files. There were several officers Bill didn't recognize, most likely help from other towns. He wondered what the downfall from this would be, for Ballarat and for Lawson, but so far he didn't hear of any repercussions from the higher ups. Perhaps word didn't get out, but it was more likely that the capture of the gang members helped out with another operation. He was sure he would find out, as soon as Lawson pulled his head out of his ass and allowed him back on desk duty. According to the man it might be sooner than later. During the last phone call Lawson let it be heard that if Bill wanted to come in so bad, they had a room full of files in need of sorting. Bill had backpedalled fast, deciding that perhaps staying away from the high-strung boss would be a smart thing to do for the next day or two.

"What's going on with my case?" Charlie asked once Bill told him about the state of the office.

"The Sydney office took over. Last I heard they transported all the suspects to Sydney, but I don't have details. Didn't anyone contact you?" Bill found that strange. After all, Davis was the lead detective in the case here in Ballarat. He would've expected at the least someone trying to talk to him about the case.

"I'm sure they tried," Davis said with a grimace. "Doc and Lawson pretty much sent them on their merry way, but that was when I was still... mostly out of it. Dunno why they didn't come back now."

Bill shrugged.

"Most likely they are busy interrogating all those bastards. If they get one of them talking, they stand a pretty good chance of bringing down the whole gang right on their turf. I'm sure that's more important than a stupid hold up here in Ballarat."

"I didn't find it very stupid or unsuccessful," Davis grumbled under his breath then cringed.

"Yeah well. They will stop by when you least expect them I suppose."

Davis couldn't but agree with that. Though Bill wasn't sure if it was his arguments or the fact the man looked ready to drop asleep.

"I swear, if you faint on me again, I won't let you live it down," Bill warned as he reached for his crutches and got up to his feet. He winced as well, his butt had fallen asleep.

Charlie shook his head, blinking.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. Bill would've found it more convincing if he wasn't swaying slightly on the chair.

"You need help getting back to bed?" he asked, though he wasn't sure how he would be able to do that with the crutches.

"No... s' alright. Someone will come in soon," Charlie said and tried for a smile. "Thanks... for stopping by," he said and Bill stood there, feeling a bit lost for words. He gave a short nod.

"No problem. Take care and try not to croak, alright?"

Charlie snorted but gave a nod as well.

Bill hobbled out of the room. It was stupid. He felt as if he was leaving a man behind... even though he was completely safe. It was irrational. Yet Bill couldn't shake it. He looked up and down the corridor. It seemed empty, except for a patient shuffling slowly down towards another room.

Bill growled. Wonderful. As if it wasn't enough that he came and talked to the man. Now he had to go and try to catch some nurse.

With a heavy sigh, Bill headed down the corridor towards the nurse station. He knew he might've been overreacting. Hell, the staff here must've known what to do. Davis was fine and a minute or two alone wouldn't kill him.

Still... Bill knew that look on his face. It was stubbornness. And behind it was the fear of showing weakness.

Bill had done that more than enough in his life to recognize it in others. He saw no reason for Davis having to suffer just for some misplaced sense of pride. He might not want to ask for help but that didn't mean someone else couldn't. And if that someone had to be Bill... well. The day had started with taking care of things. It might as well end that way.

* * *

The house was full of life and that was how Blake liked it. Noisy and busy... warm and full of friends and family. That feeling was even more pronounced by the fact the weather outside was dreadful. There were dark clouds and if his hearing wasn't mistaken, it started to rain.

But that didn't seem to bother anyone here. Blake was sitting on the piano chair, facing the room. Danny, Rose and Charlie were lounging on the couch. Danny had arrived two days earlier, to everyone's delight.

Due to several of his men being incapacitated and the station in disarray, Matthew requested some support from nearby stations. Blake wasn't sure whose idea it was, but Danny got somehow roped into it as well. For the next two weeks at least he was stationed back at Ballarat. Lawson seemed rather happy about having someone familiar to command around the station, seeing as both Bill and Charlie were out of the picture.

Right now, Matthew was occupying his favourite chair, holding the newspaper and a glass of whiskey. Blake was pretty sure he wasn't reading, seeing as the paper was open on the same page for the last twenty minutes, but he didn't point it out. Lawson looked like he could use a bit of relaxing. It had been a hard week at the station, and this was the first day the man stayed home. Most of the fires - the literal and figurative as well - were put out with some degree of success. Blake was thinking Matthew was just using the paper as an excuse not to partake in the conversation around him, but he was paying attention, or at least keeping an eye on things.

Blake couldn't stop the small smile touching his lips. However much Lawson tried to portray himself as a bad ass, he did care. Blake could tell by the way the man kept shooting covert glances at Charlie any time the boy as much as winced in discomfort.

Blake understood. Charlie had only been released from the hospital a day earlier and still looked like death warmed over. He was moving slower than usual, way more careful not to move the wrong way or bump into anything. While his colour had improved some, it didn't hide the air of weariness. Blake knew it would pass, that it was mostly caused by his body trying to deal with the trauma and the blood loss. He was also on some antibiotics that were messing with his appetite, but they were necessary to keep him from getting an infection after losing the spleen. Blake was aware of all of that. Still, seeing Charlie in such state was worrisome.

Especially for the people around him who were used to seeing him fit.

Jean worried and puttered around him like a mother hen. Matthew kept shooting him glares, still a bit salty about the fact Charlie didn't admit he was hurt when asked. So whenever he now saw Charlie wince or grimace in pain, Matthew looked as if he expected Charlie to keel over on the spot. Blake knew he would have to talk to him about it, as the hawk eyes and glares were only stressing Charlie out more, but he decided that could wait a day or two longer. Perhaps Charlie would learn to be a bit more... forthcoming next time. And it wasn't like Blake himself wasn't guilty of sending the boy to bed for a nap. He supposed he would stop that once Charlie decided to ignore said suggestions with a look of relief on his face.

For now, he was seemingly taking in all the attention. Especially that coming from Rose.

When Charlie leaned over from the couch, intent on grabbing his glass of water, Rose stepped in. Unfortunately, their hands met just there and successfully knocked the glass over, spilling the water on the table and floor.

For a moment there was stunned silence then Danny's laughter filled the room. Matthew let out a grumbled sigh, turning the page on his newspaper and Blake hid a chuckle.

Rose started apologizing while Charlie was shooting her an amused look.

"You know Rose, if you want to play a nursemaid, my friend can lend you her nurse's uniform," Danny noted with a smirk and Rose's eyes opened wide. Then she grabbed whatever came first under her hand and threw it at Danny's still cackling form. It happened to be a pen.

"You prat!"

Danny dodged, just raising a challenging brow.

"What? I'm sure Charlie would appreciate it... right mate?"

Charlie snorted.

"You can even give him a sponge bath. Seeing as you already got him wet," Danny added with a smirk then fled the room. Rose was still spluttering, her cheeks suddenly red as she looked at Charlie and noticed there was a wet patch on his knee.

"Uh... sorry. I'll just... go and grab a towel," she said, glancing at Lawson and Blake. They both pretended not to be paying attention so she quickly left the room. Shortly after, they could hear Danny yelp, followed by a satisfied chuckle.

Lawson lowered the newspaper and cast a hard look at Charlie, who was currently trying to stop the water from spilling over the table's edge using his hand as a barrier.

"Do I have to worry about adding the Davis gene pool into our family tree?" Lawson asked out of the blue, tone all serious.

Charlie coughed, looking startled.

"Uh... maybe I should just go... grab another glass," he stuttered and albeit a bit stiffly, got up from the couch. Blake followed him with his eyes, glad when he saw Charlie was steady on his feet. He waited until he vanished in the corridor then turned to Lawson.

"Was that necessary?"

Lawson merely raised a brow and took a sip from his glass.

"No. But it was amusing."

Blake shook his head.

"How long are you going to be pissed about Charlie not coming forth? You know, he most likely didn't know it was more than a broken a rib," Blake tried to defend his tenant.

"Oh, I know that. But I think he'll handle my annoyance better than worry, so that's what he gets. At least until I get bored with it," Lawson added with a smirk.

There was a knock on the door. Blake looked at Lawson.

"Expecting someone?" As far as he knew, they were all present. Alice was chatting with Jean in the kitchen while the food finished cooking.

"Actually... yes. Can you get it? My leg is acting up again," Lawson said, though it was clear he was fibbing. He was as bad as any of his men with admitting weakness. Blake rolled his eyes and got up.

"I can always start you back on some of those exercises you enjoyed so much last year," Blake teased him but Lawson had already raised the paper, covering his face.

Blake walked to the front door, shaking his head upon hearing laughter and joking coming from the kitchen. It seemed that Rose and Danny had made up, or at least they had forgotten about the spilled water.

As he opened the door, Blake came to the conclusion that it wouldn't be the only puddle on the floor that day.

In front of him stood Bill, partially drenched and looking as if he wasn't really sure why he was there.

Blake blinked, looking behind Bill as if expecting to see a car. There was none, only the rain softly pounding onto the dirt.

"You _walked_ here?" Blake blurted out and Hobart grimaced, trying to ease some weight from the crutches. Blake shook his head and ushered him inside.

"I used the bus."

"In the rain?"

"It wasn't raining when I got on," Bill grumbled, shaking off the rain from his coat. Blake looked down at the cast but it didn't seem damaged by the water, albeit it was a bit muddy.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were coming. I could've picked you up."

Bill shrugged.

"The Boss called. I haven't decided right away."

"Ah," Blake nodded with a smile. "Boredom got the better of you, aye? Well, I'm glad you're here! The more the merrier, right?"

Bill grunted something as Blake pointed him towards the living room. "Why don't you settle down? I'll bring you a towel to dry off and tell Jean to put out one more plate."

Bill looked sheepish but Blake didn't give him a chance to say anything. The man was here and he was not going to let him walk out back in the rain. If it meant having some awkward conversation or silence during dinner, so be it.

In the end he didn't have to worry about any of that. The dinner was a success, if he would say so himself. True, the conversation turned a bit sombre when Danny mentioned the asylum and Alice started talking about its history. Blake wasn't sure if anyone else noticed the look of discomfort Bill and Charlie shared over the table. When Alice mentioned several deaths connected to the place and Bill looked as if he suddenly lost his appetite, Charlie spoke up.

"Uh, I was wondering, Boss," he said, turning to Lawson.

"Hm?" Lawson looked up from his plate.

"That voice we heard... the boy?"

"It was a recording, Charlie," Lawson said with a slight frown. Charlie nodded.

"Yes, I know. But... how did it get there?"

Lawson finished up the last bite, put down the fork and knife and leaned back in his chair.

"Ernie knew someone would arrive. He was already in the building, waiting. As soon as he saw the cars, he turned the recording on and got out."

Charlie frowned.

"But how did he get in and out? That recording was upstairs. If he came down those stairs, how comes they didn't fall with him? Or that we didn't see him coming out?"

Lawson shrugged.

"He didn't use them."

"How the hell did he get up then? Fly?" Bill asked with a snort, clearly annoyed and perturbed by the whole thing.

"He climbed up a rope ladder."

There was a moment of stunned silence then an amused snort. Everyone shot a look at Danny, who raised his hand in apology as he reached for a napkin.

"Sorry but... that's classic."

"What are you on about, Parks?" Bill grunted.

Danny shrugged.

"Hey, don't bark at me. Just saying. I know Ernie and his friends tended to hold... parties in some abandoned buildings. Usually, they used one of the younger kids to crawl through the place as they were lighter and ran less of a risk of falling through some rotten floorboards. If the place looked alright, the kid would secure the ladder so they had easy access and a way out if cops showed up. I bet they used that place for some binger parties."

Bill looked disgusted while Charlie looked confused.

"How could anyone enjoy spending a night there?" he asked, voicing his thoughts.

Danny shrugged.

"The upstairs was mostly used as quarters for the less violent patients and staff," Alice jumped in helpfully. "They probably found it more... enjoyable than what you were facing."

Charlie still seemed doubtful about such possibility.

"Well... I sure as hell hope someone got rid of that ladder. I for one am not going there for another call anytime soon," he grumbled.

"I very much doubt that would be necessary Charlie, don't worry," Lawson said and there was a hint of satisfaction in his voice. If not that, the smirk was a dead giveaway that he accomplished something he found satisfying.

"Well, are you going to share with the class? Or are we supposed to guess?" Jean asked with a raised brow and a twitching lip.

Blake thought Lawson might want to play the guessing game, but then Jean was holding the dessert hostage and he changed his mind.

"I pestered a few people from the mayor's office. They will make sure the place is boarded up properly this time so that there are no more accidents."

"Cheers to that," Bill raised his glass and everyone joined in.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, even Bill seemed to be enjoying himself. They moved it back into the living room, turning on some music on the gramophone. The conversation was flowing and Blake was enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. He went to pour himself another glass and Matthew joined him by the bar table, holding out his empty tumbler.

There was a snort of laughter and they both looked towards the couch. Charlie and Rose were huddled together; Danny was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. Bill had settled himself on Blake's chair and Jean with Alice were sitting on the low seats opposite. Alice was attempting to teach them some sort of card game neither of them ever heard of. Jean was looking at her cards, biting down on her bottom lip, trying to figure out her next move, while Rose whispered something conspiratorially into Charlie's ear. He chuckled and nudged Danny, giving him a signal. He also winked at Bill, who gave a barely perceptible nod and threw out a card that made Jean groan in dismay.

Both Lawson and Blake watched the show with amusement.

"God save us all if they are the future of Ballarat," Lawson noted, watching Charlie grab his side with a grimace because he was laughing so hard at whatever Rose kept commenting.

"No, God save all the bad guys that decide to visit this town," Blake said with a smirk. Lawson snorted and laughed, gaining the attention from the table. He ignored the curious looks though. Instead, he clinked his glass with Blake's and raised it to his lips.

"To the younger generation then," he said.

"Cheers to that," Blake agreed with a smile. Looking at the wayward group of people in his living room, he thought that indeed, the town was in good hands. And he was one lucky man to be a part of it.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the last chapter. I want to thank everyone who read and commented. Your words made my days so much better:) I hope this last chapter will be satisfying as well and that you enjoyed the story. I'll be happy to hear your thoughts or prompts. Till next time - have an awesome day :)


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